March 1st, 2007


And Then There Were Three

Lotta things up in the air on ol' Duder's plate this year; and just when he went and found hisself a timetable for debt-free livin'.

My tax refund knocked my debt down to $5300 or thereabouts. That's big important news if you want to know the truth, because that means if everything stays the way it is right now, I'll have paid off everything I owe Visa by June 1st, leaving $800 in savings (minus, of course, the cost for plane tickets I'll have to buy before then to go home in July, not to mention any other expenditures along the way that come up). Still! That June 1st date is HUGE. That's only three more months of putting up with this job and then a full month's worth of savings before the big trip to T-Town.

Of course, what we've got here is me putting the cart before the damned horse again. Let me bring you up to speed.

There's a family that lives below us, married couple and three kids. Forget the kids for the time being, just know that they're there. The man, Shawn, used to be the building's Super (Super Shawn) until he got fired within the last week or two for gross incompetence and just generally being an asshole. Does lots of drugs, listens to lots of loud, bass-laden music, is only capable of yelling (a possible direct relation to the years of drug use and loud bass-laden music). To be fair, the wife - of whose name I know not - isn't much better with the music or the drug use, but at least she only yells when she's arguing with him as opposed to all the damn time.

Now, apparently Super Shawn and Wife Whose Name I Know Not have been having marital troubles and she's decided to finally kick him out for generally being an asshole and more specifically for being unemployed and owing her a shitload of money. Who knows if this is a situation where he'll smooth-talk his way back into her good graces, I don't fucking care. The point is, for now, he's out of there (I think) and has had the cops called on him multiple times within the last few days.

Stay with me now. None of us in the apartment much care for Super Shawn, Jenny being the biggest detractor and the one who most wants to see him out of our lives forever. So, we've been on this crusade (granted, the exclusive bulk of the effort belonging to Jenny and Emily) to have all of them evicted from the building. It would be one thing if Super Shawn (or, should I say, Ex-Super Shawn) was the sole source of the noise pollution, but his wife's a major offender too. Really, is it necessary to pump the music at 7am every weekday? Letters have been drawn, signatures have been requested of the other tenants living in the building, and the Jewish owners have been notified on a near-daily basis about the disruption coming from Apartment 1L.

But, eviction proceedings are exceedingly slow. And Jenny's breaking point has been beyond breached. So, within the last couple days or so, she's found herself a room to sublet for the month of March. It's along the L-Train, it's about nine stops closer to Manhattan, it's not much bigger than the room she's occupying now (which isn't much of a room at all), but it costs $450 per month. Since her name's on the lease here though, she's forced to pay the rent here too.

We're in our apartment through May I believe. Now, should the eviction play out in our favor, it's highly conceivable that Jenny will simply return to our apartment and we'll go from there - possibly wrangle our way into a month-to-month through the summer. But, if things remain unchanged, it looks like our living situations will be very much up in the air.

So, we'll see how it goes. We've got a tenuous hold on our Commons project at the moment, and things be looking grimmer by the hour.

Closing The Door On The Brain-Dead Whore

So, I had an epiphany of sorts yesterday when I was perusing Google News. Never again am I going to read one more story dedicated to Britney Spears.

Now, you're reading that, and you're thinking (don't say 'thinking to yourself' it's redundant! stop saying 'thinking to yourself'!), "THAT'S your big epiphany? I've had more important epiphanies while ejaculating on a dead hooker!"

(Like anyone could EVEN know that!)

Maybe I should elaborate. I don't think I've rightly thought this epiphany through enough. I enjoy entertainment news; I like being IN the know on WHO I know. Ergo, I try to keep up on forthcoming movies, I read reviews of my favorite TV show (and sometimes SHOWS), and like many of you, I find a certain perverse curiosity in the tabloid side of life. Mostly so I can call people Dumb Skanks and gain an air of self-importance.

I wouldn't say I'm obsessed like some people. I don't go out and buy Stars or Enquierers or US Weeklys or People or anything like that. I'm not on TMZ or on a daily basis (unless there's something floating around about possible Jennifer Aniston topless photographs, then you can't keep me away). I don't CARE that much, except for the fact that I think it's outrageous that most people value this kind of "news" over the real thing. The real thing that's happening in Iraq and Africa and South America and in our own cities (non violent-crime related that is, because we're suckers for an intriguing murder in our own backyard).

But, here's the thing: when I go to Google News, the top story shouldn't be about a decision as to where they're going to bury Anna Nicole Smith's body! Nor should a story about Britney Spears having 3-ways be a link above the fold! This isn't real news! This affects no one! Nobody should care about these things!

I also realized something else. You can get the full story from just reading the headline anyway. There's never a reason to read the full article, because it's the same recycled quotes and news ad nauseum. I've been catching a whiff of these stories telling me that the judge in the Anna Nicole Smith trial is looney tunes. It hit me then, I had no idea what these people were talking about, and I didn't fucking care! It was great! Apparently Britney Spears has been in and out of rehab a lot lately, but I don't know the details, and I feel wonderful! Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Nicole Ritchie, and Mary Kate Olsen could've walked around Las Vegas rubbing their menstruating vaginas on the felt-tops of each and every craps table while shooting dice with their sphincters and there's no way I'd know because I'm choosing to no longer read about such nonsense!

Now I'm free to read about transsexual City Managers getting fired in Florida for wanting a sex-change operation. Seriously, look at this bullshit. Poor guy just wants his wiener removed, and now all of a sudden he can't effectively do his job. This is the world we live in, folks.