Live at Five

Breaking news today from Action News Live at Five:

Monterey County has received about a ½ inch of rain in the last couple of hours.

Yep, top story of the day. News you can count on.

What’s more disturbing and gives my ears a little perky perk, are stories that came after the phenomenal weather story: the 2 local high school teachers that have been arrested this last week (separate cases) for child porn, videoing teens in the shower, and a drug and alcohol counselor accused of secretly filming students having sexual encounters with one another in his office; 

using a minor to do or assist in prohibited acts, possession of child pornography, contact with a minor for sexual offense and lewd acts upon a child.  Oh my!

And oh yea, the drive-by shooting at a downtown park at 3:30 pm; in the damn afternoon!  

But hey, Live at Five opens with their own breaking news:

A half-inch of rain fell in Monterey County.   Which, I suppose, is worth highlighting; especially significant, if you’re a calla lily.

But there’s bigger, huger news today: Mr. “No Premarital Sex” Santorum pulled out of the race. Yep. Now that’s worth talking about. But just so you don’t forget him and forget all that he stands for, here’s a few Live at Five quotes straight from the “not-so-straight” horse’s mouth:  

“There are no Palestinians. All the people who live in the West Bank are Israelis. There are no Palestinians. This is Israeli land.” ~Rick Santorum, falsely claiming that there are no Palestinians living on the West Bank.

“I believe the earth gets warmer and I also believe the earth gets cooler. And I think history points out that it does that and that the idea that man, through the production of CO2 — which is a trace gas in the atmosphere, and the man-made part of that trace gas is itself a trace gas — is somehow responsible for climate change is, I think, just patently absurd when you consider all the other factors.” 
~Rick Santorum, claiming that man-made CO2 is not responsible for climate change despite the fact that CO2 levels have doubled since the start of the Industrial Revolution.

“You can say I’m a hater. But I would argue I’m a lover. I’m a lover of traditional families and of the right of children to have a mother and father. I would argue that the future of America hangs in the balance, because the future of the family hangs in the balance. Isn’t that the ultimate homeland security, standing up and defending marriage?”
 ~Rick Santorum, comparing his fight against homosexuality to the war against terror.

And finally, one of my personal favorites:

“One of the things I will talk about, that no president has talked about before, is I think the dangers of contraception in this country. It’s not okay. It’s a license to do things in a sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be. [Sex] is supposed to be within marriage. It’s supposed to be for purposes that are yes, conjugal…but also procreative. That’s the perfect way that a sexual union should happen…This is special and it needs to be seen as special.”
 ~Rick Santorum, opposing contraception and frighteningly suggesting that he would make pre-marital sex illegal. 

It is special, Rick.  And you’re “special” too.  More special than Sarah and I thought Sarah was “special.”

But since he’s out, let’s get some 411 on Romney, whom I’m predicting (duh) will be the GOP nominee this fall.  (I’m also predicting that he’ll take one of these SOB conservative nutcases to be his running mate; possibly a woman? YOWZA!)  Anyway, don’t be so sure Barack will just waltz right in without a problemo.  Hey, I thought California would say No to Prop 8 and look what happened!  I thought Al Gore had won but look what happened!  Be careful.  Be afraid.  

Be very afraid…but laugh.

So Mitt “Corporations are people” Romney, who the hell are you?

Teachers:

Mitt’s the guy who signed a budget that cut K-12 spending by $181.6 million (4 percent) and higher education spending by $100 million (10 percent).

Poor folk:

As governor, Mitt Romney vetoed a minimum wage increase to $8 an hour.

Peace Activists:

Mitt wanted "bombardment" of Iran.

Tax-payers:

Mitt Romney set up shell companies in the Cayman Islands and Bermuda to avoid U.S. taxes.

Environmentalists:

Romney said the Clean Air Act doesn't apply to carbon emissions.

Women & Men with Brains:

Mitt Romney wants to see Roe v. Wade overturned.

Seekers of Truth:

Mitt falsely claimed he saw his father march with MLK Jr.

LGBTQ Folk and their Friends:

Mitt Romney has signed the National Organization for Marriage anti-gay campaign pledge, calling for a federal amendment outlawing same-sex marriage.

I didn’t make this shit up. Here’s a link to more Romney facts; complete with dates and sources.

http://thinkprogress.org/romney-facts/?mobile=nc

And for those of you who just can’t seem to get enough of Rick, here’s a link to more of his, as the article states, frothy mixture of hate, bigotry and insanity.

http://www.addictinginfo.org/2012/01/05/31-rick-santorum-quotes-that-prove-he-would-be-a-destructive-president/

Remember kids, we gotta laugh about it; laugh until it all makes perfect sense, right?

And speaking of special, I remember when the ambulance showed up at the park a few years back to take Julie to the psych ward…  I remember my “special” neighbor phoning every Tom, Dick and Harriet to let them know that “the manager had a nervous breakdown and the ambulance was at her unit, taking her away.”  I love "special" rumors and I love dumbass, nosey neighbors.  Reminds me of the time space 29 peered through her superabundance of boxes of Captain Crunch cereal, which lined her window sill, and spied on this young Latino man I had hired to help me pull weeds and clear a hillside.  She couldn’t wait to get on the phone and start the ringy dingy, “special” rumor that  “the manager has a man living with her” Apparently, she saw him “helping me” and us “laughing together.” I also made him a turkey and cheese sandwich, but that didn’t mean he proposed to me for Christ-sake.

I miss the park though.  I really do.  I think what I miss most about it are the characters that reside there, because they are all weird bundles of interesting dichotomies.  Where else can one meet folks who fly Confederate flags, pack guns, drink Keystone and go to Bible Study twice a week; poorer than shit, but they spend fifty bucks on Girl Scout cookies each year?  Where they talk shit about their neighbors and then drink with ‘em on Friday nights.  Where else do you see kids running butt-naked down the middle of the street and their moms’ “live-in” boyfriends chasing after them in practically the same attire?

At a trailer park, there’s always news live at five...and two, and ten, and midnight.  

And that you can count on.

This is tpg, reporting to you live from my comfy floor chair, with Diego; the dashing, black feline, curled up on my lap and sawing some big-time logs…

Just keeping it real.

~tpg

Thank God Ima Country Gal

Before I head out of town, I have this routine that consists of watering the plants, setting out the cat toys, writing a detailed “instruction list” to the cat-sitter, make those long overdue phone calls, dusting (Why the hell I dust before going on vacation, I have no clue.) I also clean out my spam folder. Deleting spam gives me a sense of organization, efficiency and control.  And somehow getting all these things done ensures that I can board that plane without a fucking care in the world. Today in my spam mail, I found 8 emails from Viagra companies,
3 from some group called Seniors Over Fifty and 6 emails from

Christian Mingle stating, “They have a match for me.” 

One time, space 19 (the park’s watch-dog) told me that Alexandra in 22 met her second husband on Christian Mingle.  Alexandra, btw, looked and acted the part of a washed-up roller derby queen from the ‘70’s.  She was big, bad and used Clairol every 6 months, whether she needed it or not.  She had the mouth of a truck driver.  I knew that first hand, as I was the recipient of many of her burly “uncorkings.”

One time, she let loose on me because I (the hippie chick manager) let in some “for sure gang members” in the space next to her and she was going to “sue my ass.”
She’s also the resident who chased me down the middle of the road, screaming and swearing, because I hadn’t trimmed some tree limb (that was actually growing on the property that backed up to our park) because it was “almost scratchin” her husband’s '64 Camaro.  That wench scared the shit out of me more than once, but evidently, the Lord told her that she and Gil were a match made behind the pearly gates of heaven. Christian Mingle worked for them.

Space 19 always let me know “the happenings” of the trailer park; who was into drugs, who was cheating on their spouse, who was staying in a unit but hadn’t filled out the required paperwork…
She was my “second set of eyes.” 

She was also the Florence Nightingale of all the park’s strays and then some; feeding every four-legged critter, stray or someone’s pet, including one of mine, just because she “knew they were all so hungry.” 

I called her the “Squirrel Whisperer.”  Sometimes,  I'd be out on my rounds and see her; hands filled with peanuts in the shell, outstretched to the skies, and I am not shitting you, there’d be a squirrel eating out of her palm.  Once, I saw her “playing” with the varmint. No joke.  She had her broom extended out and the little guy was laying on the bristles as she slowly turned round and round; bringing the broom up and down like a horse on a carousel.  That squirrel was digging the ride.  Once I said to her, “Hey, Penny, you know squirrels are wild animals, right?"  And she replied, “Yes. I know. That’s what I keep telling him.”

Over the years, I watched her feed the Steller’s Jays, crows and sparrows pretty much from her hands, or at least closer to her hands than you or I will ever come to feeding a wild bird. But the truth is;

I’m drawn to these kinds of things and these kinds of people.  Always have been.

I’m returning to Austin this week.  This time, I’m dragging along my partner and some of my gal pals.  There’s going to be a lot of dancing, drinking, and Wrangler shirts with snap buttons.
I dig this city and I hope to go where no trailer park girl has ever gone before.  With my camera, I hope to capture the “color’ of the people, the culture, the architecture, the food.  And I’m going to learn to two-step!
Yep, it’s on my bucket list and has been for quiet awhile.  You know my country roots run deep.
I’ve told you before that my immediate family all lived “the park life” at some point, but the real secret I’ve been carrying all these years is that my kin are all from the deep valleys, where the Bluebonnets blanket the fields: the great states of Oklahoma and Texas.

My mom’s side hails from Tennessee. I came out of the womb singing,  “Rocky Top you’ll always be home sweet home to me…”   Like many, my grandparents ended up in California during the Dust Bowl.  I know very little about my maternal grandmother. 3 things told to me by my mother were:

1.     She loved yellow roses.

2.     She was a vocal, staunch Republican

3.     She had large breasts.

I know a great deal more about my mother:

1.     She was also a staunch Republican.

2.     She had an impeccable work ethic.

3.     She loved football, Kent cigarettes, the color orange, and her children.

4.     She also had large breasts.

5.     Her last 2 homes she owned were pre-fabs; complete with fake wood paneling and gold shag carpeting.

I know less about my daddy’s side because there was lots of drinkin and feudin and other nonsense going on and no one was giving a damn about that side and even less about the genealogy.
But recently, I found out I have two uncles.  Yep.  Seems my dad had two brothers and like everything else in trailer trash families, it was kept secret.  Well, I found them a couple of months ago and to no surprise of mine; one lives in Bartlesville, Oklahoma and the other one in northern Texas up near Corpus Christie.
My “Deliverance roots” run as deep as The Duck River in Tennessee, which is a big sucker; about 284 miles long.  This is why, I suppose, I felt comfortable, most days, in the trailer park.

Tommy (space 7) listened to Cash and Cline; I could hear it blaring out of his CD player when he was out in his carport working on his “rig.”  I love Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash too and although I rebelled in a gigantic kinda way for decades, if you were to put on one of their albums right here, right now, I’d know all the words. 

My newfound relatives are welcoming of me.  They’ve sent me pictures of my grandfather and some of my greats and great greats.  They’ve written me very nice emails and we’ve even shared a phone conversation or two.  But there’s some big elephants in the room as you might imagine there to be;
big clues telling me I better not give them my Twitter page, blog link or pictures of who I like to kiss.

And let’s just say I didn’t tell them who I voted for, what petitions I've signed or the march on the Texas Capitol I’m going to attend next Tuesday for women’s reproductive rights.  No siree.
I may be a girl who likes cheap linoleum, but I’m not stupid.
We cleared up some things about some “sketchy” individuals in my lineage; misnomers of Texas and Oklahoma (mine) and of California (theirs) and I must admit, I want to know them.
I was pleased to know that I was not the first member of my family to go to college; that in fact, as hic as we all are, my paternal grandfather, Bert Agustus Clampitt, graduated from the University of Oklahoma and got his "teaching certificate" there.

As the conversation between us continued, 

I didn't get the sense they liked Austin; seems Texans refer to it as the “Ba-zerk-ly of Texas.” 

And that’s bad?
Naw...that ain't bad and I'll tell y'all about it soon!
Meanwhile, stay out of trouble and watch out for spam mail.
~tpg

Days Like This

The single thing I love most about life, is the people in it. 

I have this desire that lives deep down in my soul: to experience as many people as I possibly can while on this magic carpet ride.  Hell yes!  You can't convince me of something more worthwhile.  

Because while you can travel to exotic places and witness amazing buildings that are architecturally magnificent;  it's the people sitting in the square, in front of those buildings, that are far more interesting.  

It's like this.  While eating a large piece of just-removed–from-the-oven apple pie is deliciously orgasmic, so might be the baker that baked that pie.  Sitting with her/him, listening to their savory morsels; tidbits of their life experiences, is far more satisfying to me than the pie itself.  

I love people.  That’s a bottom line.  I cherish my friends who have stuck with me for decades, those I have just met in recent years that I haven’t scared off, the Facebook pals I don’t really know but we pretend we do and the strangers I meet each day on the street, whose stories of life interest me and cause me to ponder each and every moment with them.  All are priceless.

Much like travel and food, 

Money, an interesting career, fame…none rate as high on my “importance list” as humans.

And of course, with the love of humans, comes the ones that offer up various situations that 

I must remember, cherish and ultimately, accept…

Flashback

One day…I think it was a Friday, but that’s really irrelevant unless you’re living for the weekend, 

I was hiding out; blinds drawn, lights out, when there was a knock at the front door of my 

Silver Crest.  

God, I loved that pre-fab.  It was cheap, low maintenance and originally had white, flat paint on every damn wall and baseboard in the entire unit.  That is until I spruced it up with some sage semi-gloss.  

Anyway, when I opened the door, Lupe, the park’s maintenance person, was standing on my porch with a toilet plunger in her hand and a grim expression on her face.  I knew, in an instant, she was about to drop yet another “trailer trash bomb” on me. 

It seemed there was a problem in the park’s communal bathroom.  Using her hands (as if she were Italian) and broken English, she attempted an explanation of what was currently happening in the loo. 

In my  “enough to get by” Spanish, I was getting a clear picture of the crappy (pun intended) situation I was about to face. 

I heard things like, “over-flow”  “problemo” “big mess” and “Roto-Rooter” which, btw, was common language at the park, but when she uttered “books” I was perplexed. 

I asked her, “?Otra vez, Lupe…Que paso con el librito?”  (accent over the “o” in paso)

She attempted again to explain.  I was starting to get a visual and began to go into what I commonly call my “denial moment.”  It seemed we (I say “we” because I was in charge of this ship of fools) had run out of toilet paper at some point, and one of our resourceful residents (special human) took it upon himself to tear up one of the donated paperbacks and 

wipe his ass with it.   

Later, when I accompanied Lupe to the bathroom, I made a mental note.   

That paperback was a Danielle Steele novel titled, Special Delivery, which I found totally fitting at the time.  The culprit seemingly used an entire chapter to complete his business, and the pieces, now in clusters all over the linoleum and halfway down the toilet hole, resulted in a clogging nightmare.

The only beauty of the goddamn mess was that it was a Danielle Steele paperback.

That seemed satisfying to me somehow. 

You know mama always said there’d be days like this.   

She just neglected to mention the overabundance of them when you manage a trailer park.

Hey, but a person’s gotta do what a person’s gotta do, right?  Taking care of ourselves in dire situations.  Using whatever resources we have on hand at the time of the emergency, in order to see that an operation runs smoothly.  I can’t fault the guy.

Just like I can’t fault Sallie, my mail delivery woman who, up until a couple days ago, I had a lovely, open (perhaps superficial, but lovely nonetheless) acquaintanceship with.  

For some peculiar, postal reason, Sallie crossed the line for me the other day…my line; and yet, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do…or, in this case, say.

So, it went something like… I cheerfully greet Sallie, as I often do, and tell her how I think I’m getting whatever’s going around.  “Yep, you’ve got the crud.”  She says and proceeds to tell me that it will only get worse; that soon I will get a very sore, itchy throat and a cough that is unbearable.  (She was right. I’m sicker than a dog right now.)  

She then advises me to “rest, drink plenty of tea…and pray."

I couldn’t help myself.

“Pray?” I questioned.

“Yes.  Jesus will take your illness away, but you have to ask him.  Speak to him.  Let him know how you are feeling.”  (Wow. Okay.  Well, right now Sallie, I’m feeling like attacking your jugular.)  I stared at her with eyes that said, “Can’t we just talk about the weather, Sal, while you reach into your mailbag and hand me my bills and ads?”

But unlike my UPS driver, that barely has time to wish me a nice day because “The Brown” demands you punch a clock, Sallie begins "witnessing" to me right then and there on federal company time.

“Don’t you believe in Jesus as our Lord and Savior?  You’re not one of those people who think we came from pollywogs, are you?"  She gave me no room to respond.  She continued…

”The Lord loves you anyway.  Even if you don’t reach out to him.  Even though you haven’t asked him into your heart.  He loves you anyway.”

Though I love humans, apparently like Jesus loves me, I must say Sallie pissed me off.

I get this fuming little “anger dragon” pacing in my head for the next few hours after such an interaction. 

Why does it take me awhile to laugh about Sallie’s need to make her faith my faith and why can’t I locate an instant chuckle when I have to clean up clusters of poop-pages strewn all over a bathroom floor? 

If humans are the coolest thing on this planet, why the irritation, eh?

I think human beings attempt a facade which is harder than a stone.  Yet, all of us are really more fragile than an egg.  But that’s the part I dig: the inner fragility behind the outer armor.  

I sometimes set my mark on getting inside a person;  reaching that part which exists in a friend or a stranger...that part that is real, uncomplicated and yes, fragile. 

Once upon time, I managed a coffeehouse in a not so far away city.  It was a nightshift, I recall, and the outside temperature was around 48 degrees, if that.  I had interacted with this homeless woman before; but this night I offered her a free cappuccino and a table by the window.  

(The owners weren’t in the café that night.) 

There was something about her I liked.  Respected.  I treated her carefully because of what I sensed to be a certain fragility. 

When the time came, I approached Catherine and told her we were closing.  She seemed appreciative for the coffee and the hour or so she had spent inside, and really wasn’t seeking anything more, but I wanted to extend myself further.

When Elaine came home from working the graveyard shift that night, she put her bag down and headed to our bathroom.  She must have done an “about-face” because she stormed back into our living room …

"Who is in our tub taking a bubble bath?”

“That’s Catherine.”  I replied.  She’s leaving in just a bit… just as soon as I paint her nails 

as promised.

~tpg            

An Accolade

“Here’s to the crazy ones. The misfits. The rebels. The trouble-makers. The round pegs in the square holes. The ones who see things differently. They’re not fond of rules, and they have no respect for the status quo. You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify, or vilify them. But the only thing you can’t do is ignore them. Because they change things. They push the human race forward. And while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius. Because the people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world, are the ones who do. “

     A friend’s 8-year-old son posted on Facebook, “I am so sad that Steve Jobs died.  RIP.
I will miss you.”  Okay, so there’s no way an 8-year-old is missing or overcome with grief and sadness over Steve Job’s death. Granted, it’s a huge loss. Perhaps even a significant, mutha of a big deal, especially to his family, but come on!  I don’t care how tech-savvy the next generation is, does Max even know who Steve was?  I’m certain Max doesn’t own Mac because his mom, a single mom, is a UPS driver and although they have a decent insurance plan, “the brown” work their asses off for diddlysquat. But I will say this: given his extraordinary contributions, Steve undoubtedly will be written in the history eBooks as one of this century’s greats; right up there with Einstein genius.

     I revel being around those who push the envelope; those that dare to build their own soapbox, climb up on it, and profess their beliefs of steel, even when tomatoes are being hurled in their faces…Those very individuals are the mentors, the changers, the volcanoes on the verge of a revolution eruption. And I, for one, dig these folks.

They’re on Wall Street right now as I speak. They’re in the trenches in Nogales, in Afghanistan, in Salinas, in Soma, Japan... 

They’re feeding stray dogs, riding bikes to end the AIDS epidemic, taking mosquito nets to Africa, dancing for abused and unwanted dogs, singing in convalescent homes, spooning rice at soup kitchens. They are the unnamed geniuses that not only scream, shout and motivate, but also take action. They are the exceptional individuals with the creative power or natural ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound. They are not the CEO’s of BP or the owners of The Texas Rangers.  

They don’t necessarily graduate from Yale or Harvard, and most don’t have daddies who can get them in.

Steve didn’t graduate from any college.  In fact, he attended Reed College, a liberal arts college in Oregon, and because of lack of money (and probably boredom), he dropped out.

     With all the media coverage of Steve’s passing, it seems something of global importance got second seat this last week: the coverage of 3 women, 3 extraordinary warriors was quite diminutive, yet, their contributions toward change reach beyond extraordinary. The Nobel Prize Committee lauded their non-violent struggle for the safety of women and women's rights to fully participate in peace-building work.

      Tawakkul Karman, a 32-year-old mother who heads the human rights group Women Journalists without Chains, has been a leading figure in the protests against Yemeni President Ali Abdullah Saleh. "She is known among Yemenis as 'the iron woman' and the 'mother of the revolution.'"

     Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, 72, is a Harvard-trained economist who became Africa's first democratically elected female president in 2005. She was seen as a reformer and peacemaker when she took office in Liberia, a country ravaged by civil wars that is still struggling to maintain a fragile peace.

     Leymah Gbowee, head of the Women Peace And Security Network, was honored by the Committee for mobilizing women "across ethnic and religious dividing lines to bring an end to the long war in Liberia, and to ensure women's participation in elections.”

YOWZAA! SHAZAM! These women are rockin it for peace, justice, women’s rights and bring it all not only their nation’s table, but to the world’s platter because they are the visionaries, the idea-makers, the rebels, the ones crazy enough to think they can change the world!

     I once spoke with a woman in Aptos, CA who stands on her town’s bridge every Sunday, dressed in black clothing, complete with a black veil. She stands in total silence for hours on this bridge, and has for many years. This location has been the spot for women to stand in silent protest of war.  Any war.  All wars. Including the current wars in which our President (the recipient of The Nobel Peace Prize two years ago) has increased troops and kept us in.

     I do believe, this woman, who probably won’t ever make billions or win a prize, is that kind of misfit Steve Jobs was talking about; the one who sees things differently. The one who doesn’t care about the status quo. She may not be a tech genius, or who the hell knows, maybe she is, but she’s a fearless warrior who acts on her ideals and beliefs in anticipation of a better world.  Bless her.  Bless Steve. Bless the 3 recipients of the Nobel Peace Prize, and bless all you people out there in the trenches day in and day out. 

Don’t forget to take 2 Advil and wear protective gear!

~tpg

To read more about the Nobel Peace Prize winners:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/10/06/nobel-peace-prize-winner-_n_998563.html#quiz_1614 

To read more about Steve Jobs:
http://blogs.wsj.com/indiarealtime/2011/10/08/what-they-said-the-legacy-of-steve-jobs/