Terrible Analogies

Let’s hear it for my classy neighbors.  

From the people who brought you “Loud Parties At 1am“, “Public Intoxication And You“, and that classic chestnut “Let’s Invite A Live Band Over, Because We Don’t Give A Crap About Our Neighbors“, comes this new bit that I’d like to call “Baby With A Bong“.  I hope you enjoy:

Bong on the ground in front of Joe Cool, who's standing in front of a stroller.

Everyone (?) has a neighbor from hell, and this is mine.  These people are the very definition of “white trash”.  Come on guys, this neighborhood is full of kids and toddlers.  Go back to the trailer park with your “too cool for school” attitude.  God has a tornado he wants to give you.

Slaving away at work this past Saturday, snacking on a bag of Cracker Jacks, I suddenly became very thirsty. Placing iTunes on pause (thankfully silencing that damned Blue Monday cover song by Orgy), I trudged on over to the break room and purchased a carton of milk from the wheel-of-death©.  On my way back to my cubicle-of-death, I noticed the following:

You’ve got to be kidding me.  Does the Rock View milk company think I’m so stupid that they need to emblazon their product with detailed instructions on how to open a milk carton?  What sort of invalid is incapable of figuring out the obvious way to breach the otherwise impenetrable skin of these paperboard containers?

The more I thought about it, the more insulted I felt.  Next thing you know we’ll be finding signs listing in painful detail how to climb a set of stairs, bright stickers indicating how to operate a ketchup bottle, and sewn-on tags graphically displaying how to put on a pair of gloves.

Honestly, If we’re unfit enough to figure out how to open a milk carton, what makes them think we’re smart enough to know how to read, much less follow instructions?

Do these people honestly believe we’re idiots, unable to perform such a basic function in life?

At what point does the adulation and idolization become just a bit too much to bear?  Could it be the 24 hour television news coverage?  Perhaps it’s the print media overzealously picking the bones of the celeb-du jour clean?  Or maybe it’s when you want to listen to the radio but the AM/FM stations are simulcasting the Michael Jackson memorial, then rebroadcasting them in repeat?  Whatever that tipping point it, I think we’ve surpassed it long ago and are committed to desperately hanging on to this tumbling, frenzied, thrashing beast we call “news” until we crash head first on to the jagged rocks below.

If the media would quit feeling each other up for just one minute and dedicate a tenth of the energy they’ve spent on covering the Michael Jackson circus towards useful news about, oh…say the financial mess our nation is in, and what exactly is each of our elected officials doing to resolve it.  I mean, camp out at their homes, stalk them into their offices, shout out towards the heavens, press the issue, and don’t back down from these dogs who should be doing the will of the people.  

Let’s turn this car around and start focusing in on what’s really important.  It’s time to ask the tough questions and get people involved.  Question the government.  Question special interests.  Question pork/pet projects.  Question the illegal issue.  Question the tax issue.  Question the bailouts.  Question why the government hemmed and hawed when the banks wanted to pay the money back.  Question the partisanship.  Question why we’re even paying politicians if they can’t do their damned jobs.  I want to see ABC / CBS / NBC / TMZ / Cable news and television shows asking why we can’t get our collective heads on straight, and why we can’t shake ourselves out of this financial mess.

If it were up to me, I’d throw open all the books and have independent analysis of the numbers run.  Post everything on the Web.  Find out exactly where the money is going, and what we’re getting for it in return. I want to know how much they spent on coffee, pencils, and office parties.  I want to see the receipts, and if the receipts are missing, I want to know exactly why they’re missing, and whose job was it to save them?  Then I want to ask that person who their boss is, and I’ll want to then question that person about said receipts.  I want to treat the government in the same spirit that the IRS treats us.  Then, have each and every one of these jackals responsible for this mess answer to the American public.  No spin.  Just the truth.

…Forgive me if I sound upset, but I think our whole system is shot to hell and something needs to be done about it.  We’ve become so distracted from the truth that we’ll swallow anything the media dishes out with no questions asked.  

I think it’s time that we woke up from our celebrity-induced stupor.  No more distractions.  We have work to do.

I have bad neighbors.

I never thought I’d have to admit to myself that I have bad neighbors, but I do.  

Now, as bad neighbors go, mine are pretty benign, but they are becoming a blight on the neighborhood.  In their oil-stained garage they have a pool table wedged in amongst mountains of similarly stained cardboard boxes.  The requisite chopper rests in the fire lane as adults and children shout obscenities at each other.  In the parking spot next to their house skulks a truck that hasn’t been running in months.  In fact, the truck often lies scattered and strewn across the driveway, revealing a strip of decorative dead grass that is otherwise hidden underneath the rusting, tarp-covered hulk of dead steel and flat tires.  

In the past couple of weeks they’ve taken to clearing out various pieces of junk from their garage and placing them in the driveway.  On any given day you can see an art easel, a dusty drum set, random tools, a dog house, a grill, various boxes and bags, etc…etc..etc….  I’m taking a wild guess here that they do this so they have room to hang out in their garage and play pool all day long.

The mind reels at what the inside of their house could possibly look like.

It’s at times like these that I’m thankful we’re part of an HoA.  Now, I know how some of you out there feel about HoA’s, but they’re there to serve a purpose, and they have quite a few tools at their disposal to resolve matters such as these.  My initial e-mail to the HoA last month was greeted quickly, professionally, and courteously, but due to the confidentiality of our communication I can’t impart what was said and/or promised.

Tonight I sent a second e-mail to the HoA, complaining that the problem has gotten worse.  I’ve made myself available to them should they need an official written complaint or a personal appearance by me.  I’ve made jokes in the past about becoming a board member, but when things like this happen it really makes the idea of effecting change from within quite tempting…

What really gets me about this situation is that I feel as if I’m the only one complaining.  I’m not living next door to these folks, but if I was you could be certain that I’d be raising holy heck about this situation.  I’m not a stickler either.  I understand and can appreciate bending rules, but when you go out of your way to become the bane of the neighborhood, you bring down the value of our homes, our community, and our living standards.  I’d feel nothing but pity and sympathy for anyone trying to sell a home right now with neighbors who obviously don’t care about anyone else but themselves.

Am I overreacting, or should I let these people continue to step all over everyone?

UPDATE 5/19/09: Steve over at the HoA sent me a nice e-mail this afternoon that makes me think that the problem is well in hand:

Thanks for your email. I cannot divulge details on what steps the association is taking, but we are addressing the situation. The other board members are aware too. I’m sure you are aware that in this day and age with all the rights everyone has that it can take time to resolve such issues. I too, probably more than you, wish I could rid myself of HOA problem children.

Steve comes off as a bit of a heel-clicker who enjoys his job a little too much…just the sort of person I’d expect to tackle tough situations such as these.  Go get ‘em, Steve!

An example of what can be found daily on their driveway. You stay classy now...

The infamous truck that hasn't moved in months. If I lived next door to this garbage I'd be on the phone with my HoA every day of the week.

If you want to know what makes America tick…I mean, if you want to peel back the veil and take a quick peek at the squeaking, shimmying, twisting gears as they blindly strain against each other in forced cooperation for vague, uncertain, and undeclared goals, then take a couple hours out of your life and pull up a seat at your local DMV.

The DMV is one of those communal “watering holes” where everyone regardless of race, creed, color, and socioeconomic status congregates.  Like gas stations, grocery stores, and the post office, it’s a shared resource that encompasses an accepted truce where predator and prey temporarily set aside their differences to fulfill a common mandatory need. 

Much like Jury Duty, a trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles is a forced requirement.  In my case my license was up for renewal and my presence was required for a new photograph and an eye exam.  I thought I was being smooth and responsible when I made an appointment that I foolishly assumed would whisk me through this experience with minimal hassle.  Little did I know that I was about to be thrown into a dank, wretched pit of perceived power and emotional indifference.

Upon arrival at the DMV I queued up at the “Appointments” window and patiently waited ten minutes while the line I was in slowly shuffled forward as each of us in turn was asked to state our name and purpose before being thrown a numbered ticket and ordered to, “Take a seat. Listen for your number.”  As I stepped to the front of the line, a small square piece of paper shot up from a slot in the desk like a ticket from a movie theater booth.  The stern woman behind the counter expertly snapped it from the slot and handed it to me in a single practiced, fluid motion.  Lightly stamped on the paper was “F-021″ in faded blue ink.  Appointment lady looked at me like a unwanted stray and ordered me with a drawn out midwestern smokers drawl to sit down.  To listen for my number.

Then the MMRLG (Massive Multiplayer Real Life Game) of Musical Chairs began because there were more people waiting to be called than there were seats.  I counted myself lucky to have found a seat between a guy who was so engrossed in his Koontz novel that he apparently forgot how to control his gasseous emmissions, and a balding 40-something woman who glassily stared off into the distance while wistfully carressing what looked like a meandering scab that covered the entirety of her right cheek. 

I eased in as best I could and sat motionless, arms crossed, eyes fixed at the Good News / Bad News About Turning 21 poster on the far wall, careful not to draw attention to myself lest I disturb the caged pack mentality.  I listened to people talking, particularly intriqued by the “yeah, the pipe joint is fine.  I think the sealant is corroded. Yeah, Louis looked at it, but bled all over dudes interior.  Yeah, I told him not to f*ck with the stitches…” phone conversation going on behind me.

I felt like McMurphy, desperate to escape, looking for a piece of heavy furniture and a window to throw it through.

Only a poet could do justice to accurately describing my emotions when I finally heard “Window seven now serving F-021″ announced through the intercom speakers.  You know how it feels to win the lottery or take a human life?  Well, that’s exactly how I felt.

Thankfully, the waiting was the most difficult part of this whole experience.  Once I made my way to my assigned window my business there was completed within a few short minutes.  The nice old lady manning the window quickly completed the required paperwork, administered my eye test, photograpped my mug, and thanked me for waiting while tossing me a warm smile.  I guess not all DMV employees are emotionless husks of souless skin.    

Thank you window number seven lady for showing me a bit of compassion and humanity when I needed it the most.