A Time To Sever Ties
It's been crazy, and very cosmic, lately.
Gratitude
There is this whole issue of showing gratitude towards people.
I've been trying to be more diligent about it.
Saying "thank you" wherever called for, had become a focus of mine lately.
Treva, a cashier at Rouses Market on Royal Street gave me some cat food that her cat wouldn't eat. I made a point of thanking her on the way out.
I Write Off David The Water Jug Player
Then, a couple of nights ago, I decided that I was through with David The Water Jug Player.
I ran into him on Canal Street.
I had been avoiding him because, for one thing, he drinks heavily and will relate the same stories to me repetitively, even though I might try to curtail him with: "Yeah, you told me already..." or something.
Also, he started to automatically ask me if I had any weed, upon seeing me.
He has said that, since I receive assistance in my living arrangement and I get food stamps that I should basically have my pockets stuffed with weed and should naturally share it with someone like himself, who can't get a place like mine because he has been convicted of a "drug felony" and who spends whatever money he panhandles on making sure he gets trashed on vodka every night.
I always suspected that he felt like he was successfully hustling me.
The other night, I decided to smoke him up after I finished playing. I had gotten a generous bud handed to me and was actually in a good mood about it, as I spotted him around 1 AM on Canal Street.
While we were hanging out, there was a white guy passed out in front of the Hippie Gypsy store.
A couple young black ladies came by and one of them left 2 dollars next to the guy's head, probably so that, when he eventually woke up, he would be able to get a hamburger; or, more likely, a half pint of vodka to "take the cobwebs off."
David and I were talking on some subject that was probably more interesting to a drunk than to myself, when he excused himself, saying: "Wait a minute, I gotta get those 2 dollars," and then he walked over and snatched up the money.
At that point, I changed my entire opinion of him.
It put into a new perspective my entire relationship with him, these 5 years that I've known him; and cast him in a negative light.
It was then easy to imagine him thinking that he has been hustling me all this time; "playing" me for the kind of white guy who will be generous towards a black man, because of feelings of "white guilt," that I might supposedly harbor because of the way my great grandfather might supposedly have treated his black slaves.
Black Gratitude
I always thought it weird how David would thank me profusely (over-thank me) whenever I gave him anything. The blue guitar that I gave him (after someone had given me the Takamine that I play now) was worth probably about 72 "thank you, Daniel"s
I noticed that also, whenever I made any kind of point, he would over-agree with me. "You're right Daniel, absolutely right, Daniel, yes indeed. Right you are, Daniel!" Then he might repeat what I had said before adding a few more "you're right"s.
The other night, he had done the same thing. But he had raised his voice at a point when a group of black ladies were passing.
He went up a few decibels with his: "You can say that again, Daniel, you're right about that, Daniel" and I noticed him flashing a quick glance towards the ladies that seemed to convey some sort of intelligence -maybe David's version of a wink.
He was most likely doing something that I've suspected him of all the while I've known him, which would be basically to mock me, and then to share the joke "covertly" with others of his race, by basically raising his voice so that they could pick up on it, realize what he was doing (playing that white boy for whatever he's worth) and return some kind of very subtle, knowing look towards him.
As he was stealing the money that had been laid by the passed out drunk, another black street guy said: "Just like that!" to which David replied: "Just like that!"
I'm not going to try to interpret that, but it resonates with one of David's philosophies whereby he believes that "there is always more coming" (used to rationalize extravagances, such as when I handed him my sack of weed and a paper so he could roll a joint out of it, and then looked back to see him struggling to roll the whole thing into a joint fat enough for 6 people..."There'll be more Daniel, there's always more coming, Daniel) and that he is somehow in the good graces of some Rastafarian god, who would bestow blessings upon him in the form of an opportunity to steal "Just like that" (some nigger comes along and snatches your money away because you're passed out and will never know).
So, I decided to ditch David as a friend and to stop believing in his god and his "spirit of music" and all that.
The young ladies passed by a few minutes later.
"Oh, someone took the 2 dollars....did you take that man's money?" she directed at us (since we were sitting together) with disgust in her voice.
I could have said "I didn't take it," with the emphasis on "I" which would have implicated David.
David just shrugged his shoulders in a disgusting display of bold faced lying.
I decided to sever my friendship with David the Water Jug Player.
Just like that.
Alex In California Writes Off This Blog
So, in the meantime, one of my most regular blog readers over the past 5 years, Alex in California, decided to sever ties with this blog, claiming that I had malware on it and was phishing for people's passwords.
Strange how I had been trying to show more gratitude towards people that do things for me; and then read a rant by the former Alex in California, about how I apparently gave him not one word of thanks for the stuff that he has sent me over the past few years.
I'm going to do a "bio" piece on Alex soon...
And, I Googled "How to tell if there's malware on my Blogger blog, and lo and behold there is a free Google associated program to do just that.
My blog passed with flying colors.
The only concern I had that there may indeed be a worm or virus on it came because I had recently been plugging into the network at Sacred Heart Apartments to blog, rather than going to Starbucks.
I really don't know how sophisticated viruses are these days. I know that some hackers used to crash sites and destroy computers just for the fun of it.
I don't imagine there is much money in spying on the computer users at Sacred Heart.
Even if someone was to implant software on the machines that can turn the webcams on and use it to track the movements of the person's eyes; what would that information be worth to anyone? One guy sits and watches black on white porn all night, so what?
So, if Alex in California reads this (which is unlikely, unless he discovers that something else is messing with his computer and then feels safe coming back) then I wish he would stop warning others not to visit my blog.
Bobby In Building C Writes Me Off
And, to go with what has become the theme of the week, Bobby in building C, who had been my friend wrote me off.
It was basically because I had taken my air conditioning unit apart in my room and had stuffed pillows into it, in order to quiet the thing down.
There are hoses inside the thing, one labeled "in" and the other, "out" and they emit a sound as if water is rushing through them under high pressure. It is a constant sound, somewhere between a "shoosh" and a "hiss" and it is loud enough to render the "noise reduction" function on the Audacity Editor ineffective.
If I set the thing to remove the sound of the air conditioning unit, then it will, as a side effect, remove all of the sounds of myself breathing in between words when singing, along with most of the "h," and "sh" sounds; basically any sound I make which is similar to water rushing through a hose under high pressure.
Bobby criticized me for not having pursued the matter through the proper channels.
I had told one of the maintenance guys about the thing, and how I thought that it may be hooked up wrong. All he did was to shut the unit off, reset the temperature, tell me "You need to wait a few minutes before you turn it back on," and then to turn it back on and tell me "It's working now."
He had no solutions to the problem of the loud hissing noise.
Bobby told me that, when he moved in, his unit wasn't working very well, and he was able to get a brand new one. He had to wait a month, but he got a brand new one with a fancy digital display on it, that throws cold air.
Bobby suggested to me that I have myself examined by a psychiatrist because I opened the unit and stuffed pillows around the offending hoses, rather than pursue the matter the way he did.
I haven't talked to him since.
He seems to think that we wield a lot of power as disabled veterans here, and that the staff are going to bend over backwards to help us, out of fear of being sued.
"If you were older and had health problems and you almost died because your apartment was too hot because you're air conditioner wasn't working right, you would OWN this place! You could sue them up the ass!" said Bobby.
I might have maintenance take another look at the thing. I was so appreciative just to get any kind of apartment 2 years ago, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I figured there might be apartments that had units that didn't work at all, never mind just being noisy, and that they probably had a limited budget, and that not all of us could have brand new ones with fancy digital displays...
 |
| Right you are, Daniel! |
It's been crazy, and very cosmic, lately.
Gratitude
There is this whole issue of showing gratitude towards people.
I've been trying to be more diligent about it.
Saying "thank you" wherever called for, had become a focus of mine lately.
Treva, a cashier at Rouses Market on Royal Street gave me some cat food that her cat wouldn't eat. I made a point of thanking her on the way out.
I Write Off David The Water Jug Player
Then, a couple of nights ago, I decided that I was through with David The Water Jug Player.
I ran into him on Canal Street.
I had been avoiding him because, for one thing, he drinks heavily and will relate the same stories to me repetitively, even though I might try to curtail him with: "Yeah, you told me already..." or something.
Also, he started to automatically ask me if I had any weed, upon seeing me.
He has said that, since I receive assistance in my living arrangement and I get food stamps that I should basically have my pockets stuffed with weed and should naturally share it with someone like himself, who can't get a place like mine because he has been convicted of a "drug felony" and who spends whatever money he panhandles on making sure he gets trashed on vodka every night.
I always suspected that he felt like he was successfully hustling me.
The other night, I decided to smoke him up after I finished playing. I had gotten a generous bud handed to me and was actually in a good mood about it, as I spotted him around 1 AM on Canal Street.
While we were hanging out, there was a white guy passed out in front of the Hippie Gypsy store.
A couple young black ladies came by and one of them left 2 dollars next to the guy's head, probably so that, when he eventually woke up, he would be able to get a hamburger; or, more likely, a half pint of vodka to "take the cobwebs off."
David and I were talking on some subject that was probably more interesting to a drunk than to myself, when he excused himself, saying: "Wait a minute, I gotta get those 2 dollars," and then he walked over and snatched up the money.
At that point, I changed my entire opinion of him.
It put into a new perspective my entire relationship with him, these 5 years that I've known him; and cast him in a negative light.
It was then easy to imagine him thinking that he has been hustling me all this time; "playing" me for the kind of white guy who will be generous towards a black man, because of feelings of "white guilt," that I might supposedly harbor because of the way my great grandfather might supposedly have treated his black slaves.
Black Gratitude
I always thought it weird how David would thank me profusely (over-thank me) whenever I gave him anything. The blue guitar that I gave him (after someone had given me the Takamine that I play now) was worth probably about 72 "thank you, Daniel"s
I noticed that also, whenever I made any kind of point, he would over-agree with me. "You're right Daniel, absolutely right, Daniel, yes indeed. Right you are, Daniel!" Then he might repeat what I had said before adding a few more "you're right"s.
The other night, he had done the same thing. But he had raised his voice at a point when a group of black ladies were passing.
He went up a few decibels with his: "You can say that again, Daniel, you're right about that, Daniel" and I noticed him flashing a quick glance towards the ladies that seemed to convey some sort of intelligence -maybe David's version of a wink.
He was most likely doing something that I've suspected him of all the while I've known him, which would be basically to mock me, and then to share the joke "covertly" with others of his race, by basically raising his voice so that they could pick up on it, realize what he was doing (playing that white boy for whatever he's worth) and return some kind of very subtle, knowing look towards him.
As he was stealing the money that had been laid by the passed out drunk, another black street guy said: "Just like that!" to which David replied: "Just like that!"
I'm not going to try to interpret that, but it resonates with one of David's philosophies whereby he believes that "there is always more coming" (used to rationalize extravagances, such as when I handed him my sack of weed and a paper so he could roll a joint out of it, and then looked back to see him struggling to roll the whole thing into a joint fat enough for 6 people..."There'll be more Daniel, there's always more coming, Daniel) and that he is somehow in the good graces of some Rastafarian god, who would bestow blessings upon him in the form of an opportunity to steal "Just like that" (some nigger comes along and snatches your money away because you're passed out and will never know).
So, I decided to ditch David as a friend and to stop believing in his god and his "spirit of music" and all that.
The young ladies passed by a few minutes later.
"Oh, someone took the 2 dollars....did you take that man's money?" she directed at us (since we were sitting together) with disgust in her voice.
I could have said "I didn't take it," with the emphasis on "I" which would have implicated David.
David just shrugged his shoulders in a disgusting display of bold faced lying.
I decided to sever my friendship with David the Water Jug Player.
Just like that.
Alex In California Writes Off This Blog
So, in the meantime, one of my most regular blog readers over the past 5 years, Alex in California, decided to sever ties with this blog, claiming that I had malware on it and was phishing for people's passwords.
Strange how I had been trying to show more gratitude towards people that do things for me; and then read a rant by the former Alex in California, about how I apparently gave him not one word of thanks for the stuff that he has sent me over the past few years.
I'm going to do a "bio" piece on Alex soon...
And, I Googled "How to tell if there's malware on my Blogger blog, and lo and behold there is a free Google associated program to do just that.
My blog passed with flying colors.
The only concern I had that there may indeed be a worm or virus on it came because I had recently been plugging into the network at Sacred Heart Apartments to blog, rather than going to Starbucks.
I really don't know how sophisticated viruses are these days. I know that some hackers used to crash sites and destroy computers just for the fun of it.
I don't imagine there is much money in spying on the computer users at Sacred Heart.
Even if someone was to implant software on the machines that can turn the webcams on and use it to track the movements of the person's eyes; what would that information be worth to anyone? One guy sits and watches black on white porn all night, so what?
So, if Alex in California reads this (which is unlikely, unless he discovers that something else is messing with his computer and then feels safe coming back) then I wish he would stop warning others not to visit my blog.
Bobby In Building C Writes Me Off
And, to go with what has become the theme of the week, Bobby in building C, who had been my friend wrote me off.
It was basically because I had taken my air conditioning unit apart in my room and had stuffed pillows into it, in order to quiet the thing down.
There are hoses inside the thing, one labeled "in" and the other, "out" and they emit a sound as if water is rushing through them under high pressure. It is a constant sound, somewhere between a "shoosh" and a "hiss" and it is loud enough to render the "noise reduction" function on the Audacity Editor ineffective.
If I set the thing to remove the sound of the air conditioning unit, then it will, as a side effect, remove all of the sounds of myself breathing in between words when singing, along with most of the "h," and "sh" sounds; basically any sound I make which is similar to water rushing through a hose under high pressure.
Bobby criticized me for not having pursued the matter through the proper channels.
I had told one of the maintenance guys about the thing, and how I thought that it may be hooked up wrong. All he did was to shut the unit off, reset the temperature, tell me "You need to wait a few minutes before you turn it back on," and then to turn it back on and tell me "It's working now."
He had no solutions to the problem of the loud hissing noise.
Bobby told me that, when he moved in, his unit wasn't working very well, and he was able to get a brand new one. He had to wait a month, but he got a brand new one with a fancy digital display on it, that throws cold air.
Bobby suggested to me that I have myself examined by a psychiatrist because I opened the unit and stuffed pillows around the offending hoses, rather than pursue the matter the way he did.
I haven't talked to him since.
He seems to think that we wield a lot of power as disabled veterans here, and that the staff are going to bend over backwards to help us, out of fear of being sued.
"If you were older and had health problems and you almost died because your apartment was too hot because you're air conditioner wasn't working right, you would OWN this place! You could sue them up the ass!" said Bobby.
I might have maintenance take another look at the thing. I was so appreciative just to get any kind of apartment 2 years ago, I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I figured there might be apartments that had units that didn't work at all, never mind just being noisy, and that they probably had a limited budget, and that not all of us could have brand new ones with fancy digital displays...
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