Pushin’ 40 but not a baby carriage. No wife no kids, just shirt and shoes. That’s service for you. Years ago a I jacked off in a cup and gave it to some young woman who spun it around and counted how many swimmers per million I had. Not enough. So I don’t have anything to bank on even.
To be a Dad you shouldn’t be self centered and right now, I think about me. I think about buying an air horn and installing it in the truck. Something loud. I’d be resentful if the next $300 bucks I had went to diapers.
Thanks for tuning in.
We got the cart stripped down and a few walls built back up. Probably three more casual days of grilling and it will be ready for Chiraag to paint his logo and roll out the chai.
Chiraag and I were getting meats for the grill. He signed for his purchase with my girlfriends name. I tried this one out. Both were accepted. Just another fake security measure we live with.
Business before pleasure means I don’t get to blog because I’m trying to run a business and what kind of life is that? And how do you explain karaoke nite at the strip club and we’re taking turns sliding down the pole? Is that the business of pleasure or a recipe for thigh blisters?
Life is full of decisions and a lot of them leave you feeling stupid. Sometimes I sit in my pick up and wonder why I’m so broke and why there’re crumbs all over the place and I didn’t take the time to fix the burnt out bulb and the damn thing is an ’83. My wallet is full of receipts cuz I bought other people things with my money. Sheetrock screws. Curtain rod rings. Something to keep the corner of the rug down. Where’s the money in this? And why don’t I spend more time writing?
Being broke sucks after a good couple years. Art careers aren’t like carpet cleaning careers. With the latter your clientelle grows and you make better bids and you make more money. But everyone has carpet, not everyone needs a rock band. Or a poet. Or a blogger.
They tell me rock music in the 90′s was all self loathing. As a reaction to the feel good 80′s. Are my decades reactions to each other as well? Is that why people stop dying their hair purple in their 30′s?
There’s a small business group that sends out emails to small business owners. Here’s the latest:
Supervisor John Avalos has introduced legislation which will create a new fee on all alcoholic beverages sold in the City and County of San Francisco. Click here for more information on this ordinance on the SBC website.
The Alcohol Mitigation Fee Ordinance (“Ordinance”) establishes an Alcohol Mitigation Fee (“Fee”) at the rate of $.076 per ounce of alcohol sold in San Francisco to defray a portion of the alcohol attributable costs that the City incurs each year. Specifically, the Fee would reimburse the City for the following costs: 1) the unreimbursed health care costs of treating alcohol-attributable conditions, 2) the unreimbursed costs of emergency transport due to alcohol, 3) alcohol prevention and treatment programs administered by the Department of Public Health, and 4) administration costs, including but not limited to fee collection, investigation, and enforcement costs.
This email is trying to rally people against this fee because it will hurt small businesses. I guess that’s where I draw the line against free market and capitalism. There is a real cost to taxpayers when someone gets drunk and passes out on the sidewalk. Maybe they are homeless and chronic drunks, it doesn’t matter. An ambulance still arrives and takes the person into care. And it costs a lot of money. Taxpayers pay it. Shouldn’t drinkers pay it?
Leave it to the outlaw, Oggy Bleacher, to get done what the city government can’t. Here’s a nice badge pinned proudly to my lapel, just as the code requires of junk gatherers in The City. I called City Hall yesterday and left a message, hoping to find out when the real one comes in.
This is certainly the sweetest surprise I’ve received since I found out I wasn’t going to jail on rape charges. Thanks pal!
This is typical of the private rooms at the SPCA here in San Francisco. One or two cats per room, television, climbing carpet tree. Not bad. Then you take a walk over to Animal Control across the street and find cats in kennels stacked on each other.
I was browsing the available horses at the kill broker lot in PA that are heading on a slaughter truck on friday and a registered morgan mare named Rusty Sunshine has shown up there this week. I googled her name in hopes of finding some additional info on her and kept getting directed to your blog where I wasn’t able to find a picture or anything specific other than a reference to Rusty Sunshine’s barn.
If you are a previous owner of a mare named Rusty Sunshine, can you give me any information on her? Reason for selling? Did she have any lameness or health issues with you? What did you do with her? How is she under saddle? They say she pulls a cart… did you ever do that with her? If you are interested in contacting the rescue group that is trying to get her into a home before the truck heads out on Friday I can help you do that.
If you are not a previous owner of this mare, I’m sorry for contacting you…
Rusty Sunshine is a man, an old one that still gets up in the morning and heads off to do manual labor. He’s got horses, but he’s smarter than even the best of them.
You might also find his name in a poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca, a description of the light falling across a room. Baca was a runaway from an orphanage who went to prison at a young age and came out a poet.
Your email is a beautiful thing, an epic poem off the cuff. I can’t tell you anything about the Morgan who holds the same name, but it is a powerful name and I appreciate all your efforts to keep her alive. Let me know if there is some way to help. Thank you.
Wanted to give up blogging out of photo frustration. Drove 3 hours north today and wrote down a few random thoughts….
We’ll cross that river when we learn how to swim
Homeless guy sleeping in front of the mattress factory
On 80 heading east, up through the dry grass.
Waltz beat hip hop
If it’s confusing, blame it on 4g. Panoramic shots are fine, but portraits are kicked over to horizontal. Is this my dream phone? No Mr. Jobs. You hurt me.