floyd is a service manager at the mercedes dealership in greensboro. he’s originally from waynesville. but i guess the bright lights of the triad lured him away from the mountains. he was fine to work with, except for not even attempting to spell my last name and giving me one of those ‘you ain’t from ’round here, are ya, son?’ looks when i walked in his office.

that happens everyday. so that’s not my point.

i needed my car serviced. i haven’t heard good things about the benz dealership in asheville. i especially didn’t want a trainee here working on the car. my sister lives in greensboro. so i could say ‘hello’ to her and get the car checked in the meantime.

besides the scheduled maintenance, there was only one thing i needed them to check.

when the A/C was set to medium speed, it made a weird noise, kinda like a playing card put against spinning bicycle spokes. but it didn’t make the noise if the A/C was manually set on ‘high’.

i thought a fan blade was loose or a piece of paper that i put in the glove compartment slipped into the A/C vent.

i was wrong.

i got floyd’s interim report about noon. here’s how i remember the conversation:

floyd: well, we found out what was making the sound in your A/C unit.
me: oh, OK, that’s good. what was it?
floyd: uh, well… it seems a rat built its nest in the system and that was interfering with it’s working properly.
me: what’d you say, floyd? (said a la diff’rent strokes’ “what you talkin bout willis?”)
floyd: uh, well… i’ve heard of it happening before. if a car is stored for a long period or kept on a field, small animals can climb-up into the engine compartment to set-up a sweet little den for themselves.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well… we know it was a rat because the technician was using pliers to pull-out the nesting material and one of the things he pulled out was the rat’s head.
me: what’d you say, floyd?
floyd: uh, well…we can keep the head for ya if you wanna have a look when you pick up the car. the tech still has it.
me: what’d you say, floyd? …

so it seems that every time i turned on the heater this winter my A/C was slapping a rat in the head, like moe slapped curly in the “three stooges” films.

the moral of this story is to quit smoking.

what?

i smoke. i knew smoking affects the sense of taste. but now i know it affects the sense of smell to the point where i don’t notice the odor of a decaying rat in my car.

wow and yuck.

heritage-pride-is-not-a-hate-crime.jpg

this truck has parked in front of my house for a week.

ok, here’s my point:

if i’ve said it once, i’ve said it a thousand times, “moral outrage is a luxury of the young.”

i admit that for a minute i thought of complaining to the general contractor about the klan’s regional rep working on my project’s construction crew. (those are his bumper stickers on his ford F-250.)

‘hey, mr. contractor, what’s up with the grand wizard assigned to work on plumbing?’

yes, of course, i could have asked that question.

but i didn’t.

this fucking garage has taken months to get started. am i willing to wait until every construction worker involved in the project is vetted to ensure they all appreciate a rainbow coalition utopian ideal?

HELLLLLLL, no.

as long as i can’t hear him saying i represent everything that’s wrong with america, i will have no part of slowing down this job site.

i figure i can cleanse his bad mojo by asking my jewish black trannie wicca lesbian friend to take the first official dump in the toilet he worked on…

…flush his negativity down into the sewers.

(the scariest part of all this is that mr. wizard has access to my house keys.
that’s why i’m just gonna keep smiling pretty and saying, ” good mornin’. how ya doin’? you’re lookin’ especially aryan today. you musta got a good night’s sleep; no rally last night or did it just end early? …ok, have a nice day. bye-bye.”)

free at last, free at last

January 21 2008

in the grand of tradition of twisting political speech into a pretzel of half-truths and partisan spin, i present a self-serving excerpt from martin luther king’s ‘i have a dream’ speech:

“…sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank Dog* Almighty, i am free at last!”

why bastardize the words of the civil rights leader on the memorial day of his life’s work?

well… besides being topical, it’s the best way for me to express the relief and joy i feel at having gotten a permanent home for ‘lil TT.

now the only thing biting, snarling and peeing in the house is me.

thanks to ‘mrs. e’ for adopting ‘lil TT.

i’ve been accused of not bonding with ‘lil TT because of my subconscious misogyny.
…i’m not paying for therapy again. so i guess we’ll never know.

what i do know is “free at last, free at last!”

here is my description of TT and i’s last moments together:

i met mrs. e at the vet’s office last night.
she got there before me. the whole fucking receptionist staff was also waiting.
6 mountain women in their puppy-and-kitten print scrubs were waiting to see the blind date between mrs. e and TT.
when mrs. e held TT for the first time, some of those receptionists started to tear up.
no joke.
i think the staff waited for me to get there so they could see this first meeting because 10 minutes after i got there 4 of the receps went home.
these mountain people are extremely sentimental or they got nothing better to do.
bye-bye, TT. i guess i luv ya, but my cold, cold heart won’t let me admit it.
(*as many a lesbian’s bumper sticker has taught me,
‘god spelled backwards is dog’)
out

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“It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important.”

Martin Luther King Jr.

for a wide variety of social issues, this idea is the most important role of government.

out.

ps

here’s a miscellaneous asheville observation:

employees at the asheville barnes and noble are allowed to work in crocs.
yikes.

bumper car philosophy

December 7 2007

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after new york, asheville is the most liberal, progressive place i’ve lived. or least that’s what many people living here like to tell me about their town.

for good or bad, asheville seems the perfect bobo paradise.

the most fascinating aspect of this place is the tug-of-war between real progressive action and the bumper sticker approach that feigns action.

would the last city council voter participation numbers have been higher if every person who has a bumper sticker on their car, also made sure they went to vote?

progressives are very good talkers. but changing words into action doesn’t seem their forté. is righteous indignation their goal, not their starting point? …oh, and smug. those suckers can be smug.

(i’m not judging. i’m just typing out an observation. obviously, i’m no better.)

damaging your car’s paint job with a bumper sticker is a slightly sad and ineffective way to attempt change.

nevertheless, the variety of topics i’ve seen on asheville bumpers is impressive.

C U