Archive Page 2


Holiday Greetings

Happy Holidays!

May there be mirth, joy and peace

For all those you love.


Book 2 ~ Entry 23

I’m sitting at the park across from Reggie’s housing complex. He’s supposed to meet me here with a quarter ounce of pot. I busted up my piggy bank (I’m a little old for a piggy bank anyway) and even snatched five bucks from Grannie’s purse so I would have enough. She just got paid, so I don’t think she’ll miss it, unless Garret goes for some too. Of course she’s senile so we can just remind her that she gave money to those religious freaks that are always coming to our door – even though she didn’t of course.

Granny’s getting battier every day. Usually she only talks to Jesus when she’s in her room, looking at the painting on her closet door. But lately she has been talking to him all the time, no matter where she is. It’s usually about how bad her grandchildren are and why he stuck her with such hoodlums. She’ll pause for an answer while looking up in the sky, then nod her head. Then she’ll turn and glare at us, as if Jesus just gave her a great and terrible idea for punishment. Just the other day she snuck into Garret’s room while he was asleep and busted a wooden spoon over his head. He had it coming of course. After shooting her in the leg with the staple gun he’s lucky she didn’t staple his mouth closed. Good thing she doesn’t know how to use a staple gun.

Reggie was over the other day and he farted right in front of her. He’s always farting of course. It’s all those refried beans he eats, so he can’t help it. But he was standing right next to her in the kitchen when he let out a long, juicy ripper. She looked at him aghast, wagged her finger at him and said, “There’s a time and place for that young man!” Poor Reggie had no idea what she was talking about. He hadn’t learned yet that in our house, if you have to fart, you go to the bathroom. At least that’s how Granny wants it. Garret and I usually pass silent ones if we’re near her. That way she can’t know who did it. We can even say it was her, which really gets her riled up.

Reggie wanted to get revenge, so two days ago he brought a whoopie cushion to the house. He blew it up and put it under the sofa cushion, right where Granny always sits. We were sitting in the living room while Granny was boiling apples, then she came and sat down on the sofa and the whoopie cushion went, “bluuuuuup!” We all turned and looked at her in unison, with fake surprise on our faces. Poor Granny had this confused look on her face like she just shat her pants, but it couldn’t be possible since she didn’t recall shitting. Garret then wagged his finger at her and said, “Granny! There’s a time and place for that.” She waddled off to the toilet to check her panties, I guess. We laughed our heads off, and we weren’t even high.

I did get high with Reggie again yesterday. It was totally cool. We went to the beach and watched the sunlight reflect off the water, and watched the spray of the waves shoot into the sky. The sandpipers play chicken with the waves. Garret wasn’t around, which meant that we didn’t have to listen to his know-it-all talking all the time. We just sat in silence, or walked along the beach pointing and ooohing and laughing. Man, the world is so much more interesting on pot.

Dad’s coming home tomorrow from his business trip. I’m going to have to find a safe place to hide my weed. That is if Reggie ever shows up. I already gave him my money. Now I am wondering if he just made off with it. He’s pretty cool for a Mexican, but some of his friends don’t like me. Maybe they just took my money and told Reggie to quit hanging out with Gringos. They don’t like Gringos in general, I think. The other day down by the Thrifty, that big scary dude with the permanently bloodshot eyes, Pedro, beat the shit out of Chris LeCour just because. Man, I could beat the shit out of Chris LeCour, not that I ever would. But it goes to show you how mean some of these dudes can be.

I’ve been waiting here for half an hour now. I’m starting to get paranoid. Maybe the pigs have caught Reggie. They’re always going after the Mexicans. Reggie’s brother, Raul, is in jail. I don’t know what for because Reggie won’t say. He just says he’s innocent and the cops have it in for the wet backs, even thought they aren’t wet backs. I always thought Raul was a cool guy. Kinda weird thinking about him in jail.

Oh, here comes Reggie. I hope he scored.


Vacant Lots

Little brown dead weeds

In fields of trash and stone ~

Spring’s dormant splendor.


stay in your home!!!

I thought I would share this bit of transcript from Bill Moyers’ piece with Steve Meacham, a community organizer in Boston who is helping people who have been foreclosed on stay in their houses. Remember that many people who are going through foreclosure purchased houses at the peak of the bubble, and signed loans that the lenders knew weren’t safe. Also recall that many of these houses are now worth a helluva lot less than they were when people bought them.

It’s an inspiring piece that shows what some good folks are doing in the face of this absurd madness. You can watch it here:    Bill Moyer’s Journal

STEVE MEACHAM: One of the unheralded things about this crisis right now is that there’s an awful lot of owners who come to us who cannot afford their home at the inflated value, at the adjustable rate mortgage price. But they have plenty of income to afford their home at the real value at a 30-year fixed. And so why not just give them the property back at that amount? If they’re foreclosed on, the best the bank that can do is sell the property at the real value. By definition, that is the absolute best.

If Deutsche Bank forecloses on Joe Schmoe, the best they can do is to sell that property at real value. So if Joe Schmoe can afford the property at real value, why not sell it back to him? But the only reason the banks aren’t doing that is because of what they call moral hazard. They say basically that homeowners should be punished because they signed these loan documents.

These are the same guys who have run our entire economy into the ground and who have been rewarded with billions in taxpayer bailouts and have used billions of that money to give bonuses to the very executives that drove their companies and the whole economy into the ground. And they are citing moral hazard as the reason why they can’t resell that property to the existing homeowners at the real value. That is disgusting and hypocritical and in the extreme.


Kind of makes you wonder whether the banks really give a shit about moral hazard or whether this is just a plan to further erode the middle class. It’s just mind numbing to me how this whole financial crisis has panned out, and still the culprits are making off with billions. I guess it will keep on going until there is a movement that demands a stop to it.

As far as I can tell, Obama’s presidency hasn’t done squat to change the culture of Wall Street or Washington. Not that I believed it would, particularly after I saw all the Wall Street and Washington homies he put on his cabinet, but a lot of folks put a lot of faith in him. He sure sold himself as a charismatic and effective leader, but I haven’t seen anything but the contrary from him. It’s a sad state when the best we can say — and I hear many people say it — at least he’s not Bush.

As usual, it’s business as usual.


Book 2 ~ Entry 16

Reggie came over today to hang out with me and Garret. We were sitting in the living room just hanging out when he said he had some pot and asked if we wanted to get high with him. I didn’t even get a chance to say no because Garret got all excited that Reggie had pot, or “herb” as he called it. I didn’t even know that my brother smoked dope, so I was kind of surprised. They went to the garage but I didn’t follow. Garret asked me why I wasn’t coming and I told him that I wasn’t a pothead. He called me a pussy, trying to goad me into going, which just made me feel less like doing it. But Reggie said that pot was really fun, and besides, the first time it rarely works anyway. I don’t know why I said yes. Maybe it’s because I think my brother is such a dick and I wanted to do it just to spite him, or maybe I thought that nothing would happen, as Reggie made it seem. Anyway, I went with them into the garage and we shared a joint. I only had two drags because I was coughing so much. Garret called me a wimp, but then he started coughing too, only as usual he had an excuse: he took too big a hit, whereas (he said) I barely inhaled. Reggie sucked the smoke down into his shoes and held it for about thirty seconds. Total pro.

Nothing happened for about ten minutes, but I noticed that Reggie and Garret were acting really weird, so I went to my room to read a book. After one page I couldn’t focus anymore. It was like the world was shrinking in on me or something. And then expanding back out. I was reading Jaws and looking at the picture of the shark with its black eyes looking like two holes into nowhere. There was something funny about those eyes, like they were black holes and everything in the universe was going to fall into them and never return. I looked at the teeth next maybe because I was worried about falling into the black holes. The teeth were silly instead of scary, so I started laughing. Then I looked at my Farrah Fawcett poster on the wall. She looked so ridiculous in that shiny swimsuit and all that carefully messed up hair. I started bursting out laughing. Reggie and my brother came in the room and asked me what was so funny. I just pointed at Farrah and doubled over laughing. They started laughing really hard too.

I don’t know how long we laughed about that and many other things too. For a while I guess. Then we went into Grannie’s room to see if we could steal some money from her purse. She keeps it in the corner behind some shoe boxes. I never steal money from Granny. That’s Garret’s thing. I told him it was stupid to steal from an old lady on social security, but he doesn’t care. Being high I didn’t really care either. Besides, Reggie said he had the munchies (that’s what pot heads say when they are hungry, which is always when they are high). He said he wanted some Ding Dongs and pretty soon the only thing I could think of was Ding Dongs, though every time any of us said the word, I just burst out laughing.

Granny keeps that velvet painting of Jesus on her closet door. I never really looked at it before. It just seemed to stupid to look at, and besides she talks to the damned thing which makes me feel that Jesus has got to be pretty stupid to talk to Granny. Anyway, as soon as I saw the Jesus painting I just stopped and stared. Garret tried to open the door but I stopped him. “Look,” I said. “Check this dude out!” I looked at him really close and I think Garret was kind of freaked out, like because I was high I might get Jesus like Granny got him, but instead I just started laughing again, this time so hard that tears were coming out of my eyes and my gut was so tight it felt like someone stuffed a bowling ball in there. He seemed like some kind of cartoon figure to me. I imagined him talking to me, moving his mouth the way Fred Flintstone does. It still makes me laugh even though I am not high anymore.

Anyway, Garret pushed me out of the way so he could get into the closet, but right then we heard the front door open. Thinking it was Granny coming back from wherever it is she goes on Tuesdays, we bolted out of the room. Turned out there was no one at the door. We were just hearing things. Reggie said we were being paranoid, but then pot is supposed to do that to you. He wanted to go back into Grannie’s room to get the money. He still had Ding Dong’s on the brain. But Garret was real paranoid and I didn’t care anymore about Ding Dongs so I went to the kitchen and got an orange and some Triscuts. It was weird sitting on the couch looking at the orange like I had never seen one before. When I peeled it I saw all the moisture from the peel shoot out into space as if it was exploding energy and each little speck of moisture was like a universe all to itself. The Triscut was even weirder. The texture of the cracker was like some alien desert world. The closer I looked into it the more mathematical the thing seemed. I tried to explain to Garret what I was seeing but he just said I was being loopy, as usual. I showed him the cracker by putting it close to his eyes saying, “See, check it out. It’s like a . . .” But then the universal cracker crumbled into a million pieces when Garret took it in his hand, crushed it and threw it in my face. Even high, my brother is a total asshole.



Everything changes:

What’s tobacco one moment,

Smoke the next ~ then air.


George Carlin’s Faith

If there is a god,

And I’m certain there is not,

May he strike you dead.