Las Muertas de Juarez

Speaking of movies, last night I was fortunate enough to watch the film, "Bordertown," (2006) written and directed by Gregory Nava, who reunited with actress, Jennifer Lopez (he directed "Selena," which rocketed Ms Lopez to national prominence in 1997, sandwiched in between interesting performances in "Blood and Wine," (1996), with Jack Nicholson and Michael Caine, and "Anaconda,"). Martin Sheen, and the ever underrated Antonio Banderas, also appear in the film, as well a startling performance by Maya Zapata.
The film deals with the very real murders of large numbers of mostly young women since 1993, in the city of Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua Mexico, right across the border from El Paso, Texas.
According to the Organization of American State's Inter-American Commission on Human Rights:
"The victims of these crimes have preponderantly been the state of young women, between 12 and 22 years of age. Many were students, and most were maquiladora (factory) workers. A number were relative newcomers to Ciudad Juarez who had migrated from other areas of Mexico. The victims were generally reported missing by their families, with their bodies found days or months later abandoned in vacant lots,outlying areas or in the desert. In most of these cases there were signs of sexual violence, abuse, torture or in some cases mutilation."
And from Amnesty International:
"In a significant number of cases, the brutality with which the assailants abduct and murder the women goes further than the act of killing and provides one of the most terrible examples of violence against women. Many of the women were abducted, held captive for several days and subjected to humiliation, torture, and the most horrific sexual violence before dying, mostly as a result of asphyxiation caused by strangulation or being beaten. Their bodies have been found days or even years later, hidden among rubble or abandoned in deserted areas near the city. 'When we found her, my daughter's body told of everything that had been done to her," said Norma Andrade the mother of Lilia Alejandra, whose body was found in February 2001, on waste ground in Ciudad Juarez next to the maquilal where she worked. Like Lilia Alejandra, most of the women, some with children to support, come from poor backgrounds and have to take long bus journeys to reach their places of work or study. Sometimes, they have no choice but to walk alone across unlit waste ground and streets where they are at greater risk of possible attack."
The estimate of the number of victims varies. Amnesty International reports that as of February of 2005, 800 bodies had been discovered, with over 3,000 women still missing.
The film "Bordertown" (which was released overseas, but went straight to video here in the US. The film did have its problems, long dialogue scenes in Spanish without subtitles not the least of them), lays the blame for these murders primarily in the hands of Bill Clinton, and his signing into law the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and the exploitation of poor workers in other countries that have no protections against unfair labor practices, hence the growth of the maquiladora factories along the U.S. Mexican border, which receive imported parts on a duty free basis, manufacture these parts into a finished product, then ship them back to the originating countries for large profits. Workers typically make approximately $110.00 a week, during a 48 hour work week (but they have medical! Mexico enjoys universal health care, something its neighbor to the north has been unable to provide its citizens to date).
Still, although NAFTA was probably his worst mistake during his tenure as President, it is hard to pin the blame for "The Dead Women of Juarez" (the title of this post translated) entirely on Clinton.
No, one must take into account the actual murderers of these defenseless women and children. As John Steinbeck pointed out in "East Of Eden," there are monsters among us. Those who committed these crimes are literally human monsters, and should be hunted down and treated as such (or maybe not. Maybe the designation "human" is too good for them).
There are probably many factors contributing to the confluence of violence against women in the tiny geographical region of Ciudad Juarez, including the availability and quantity of easy prey, gang and drug related criminality, a culture of domestic violence and the treatment of women as property that is ignored by authorities (which is not peculiar to Mexico. This horrible tendency is endemic in the Middle East, Asia, Africa, and countries like Afghanistan and India), genuine "Hostel" like killing by those who think of it as a sport perpetrated by monsters above and below the border, sexual aggression taken to its ultimate limits, as well as the general victimization of the weakest among us.
I believe the largest propagator of violence resulting in the murders of these women in Juarez, and elsewhere around the world is the irrational idea that is okay to treat women in this manner because they are less than. And I believe this idea is born out of the fear and ignorance of what women's equality and the power it would represent to the male population in these areas would mean to males, often reinforced by religious dogma that conveniently places the role of women beneath that of men.
My belief is in itself reinforced by the lack of fervor displayed by the local authorities in Mexico in the prosecution of those responsible for these horrendous crimes. Pitifully few arrests and prosecutions have been enacted considering the number of victims, and possible victims. The general tone of law enforcement in Juarez seems to be hostile toward the victims and their families, and foreigners who visit in order to investigate or publicize the murders. Nava's film crew, while shooting in Ciudad Juarez, were threatened, and thousands of dollars of valuable equipment vandalized. This would indicate a common disregard for the rights and safety of women embedded within the culture (unless of course it is their own mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters involved). Indeed, "On May 30, 2005, President Vicente Fox told reporters that the majority of the Juárez killings had been resolved and the perpetrators placed behind bars. He went on to criticize the media for "rehashing" the same 300 or 400 murders, and said matters needed to be seen in their "proper dimension."
The BBC reported 28 women had been killed by November of 2005.
In August of 2006, the Federal government in Mexico dropped its investigation of the murders in Ciudad Juarez.
Through my involvement with Amnesty International I've been aware of the situation in Juarez for many years, and have done what I could, written letters to local and Federal authorities in Mexico, as well as officials in my own government, signed petitions, etc. Whatever I could do.
Even though the preponderance of violent crime worldwide targets men more than women, more than two thirds so, I don't seem to get all worked up about men killing each other, although violence in all of its forms is still appalling. I abhor violence against women. They are men's partners in life, and they should be cherished and protected for all of the love, beauty, intelligence, and grace that they bring into this hard world.
I invite you dear readers to join the fight at Amnesty Internationals site below.

http://www.amnestyusa.org/violence-against-women/justice-for-the-women-of-juarez-and-chihuahua/page.do?id=1108394

Taking Care Of Business

Channeling Pika

Speaking of movies, I managed to watch the film, "District 9," last night, directed by Neill Blomkamp, and produced by Peter Jackson.
"Who's that?" my lovely case manager, Erin, asked me yesterday as we walked back from Yoga Class. She had seen the movie the night before with her conservative boyfriend, Shane (what kind of name is "Shane" anyway? Sounds like some 1950s cowboy movie).
"He's a director, producer. You may have heard of some of his work, like 'The Lord of the Rings,' and 'King Kong...'
She was familiar with his work.
I thought the film was great. Inspired by certain actual events in South Africa during apartheid, the movie told the story of a ship of extraterrestrial refugees who take sanctuary in that country, who soon become a problem for the local population and are subsequently segregated into their own little district, District 9, where they buy cat food as a delicacy off the black market and struggle to survive while being treated like crap by humans. One bureaucrat who takes on the job of forcibly evicting and relocating the aliens (in a remarkable performance by South African actor/producer/director/talent scout Sharlto Copley) accidentally becomes infected with an alien virus that slowly transforms him into one of the aliens, and his point of view towards the extraterrestrial visitors understandably alters somewhat.
There is a lot of CGI (Computer Generated Images) special effects, explosions, and people getting shot and blown up, so it would be a perfect film for our Movie Day. Accordingly some critics have dismissed the film as just another alien shoot'em up fest. And their right to a degree, but its much more than that.
Erin and I both recommend it. Our tastes are exceedingly discerning. Besides, how many movies come out set in South Africa?
I can't believe they made the movie for only 30 million dollars! Ten years ago the budget for a film like this would have been over 100 mil. As I write this, Box Office Mojo tells me District 9 has made $50, 178,081.00 since it opened last Friday, foreign and domestic.
Also yesterday, during our walk to the Hippie Kitchen, I told Erin that it was the 40th anniversary of Woodstock.
"I wish I was at Woodstock," she told me. See, she really is a little hippie girl.
Later, I Emailed to her the picture of the Channeling Pika, pictured above. She loves pikas.
We also finished (finally) the 1000 piece picture puzzle we had been working on for better than a month at the Drama Free Support Group. Hardy, Jose, Paul, and I labored laboriously for each and every piece we infrequently found, while our breezy friend, Erin discovered piece after piece without difficulty, snapping them into place, while exhorting, "Yeah!" or some similar irritating exclamation, again and again. It was like watching John Nash effortlessly decipher code in "A Beautiful Mind."
"She gets so many because she cheats," I told Jose. "She looks at the box." I was referring to the picture of the box cover that represented the puzzle when completed.
"That's not cheating, Rick." Erin told me. "That's what you're supposed to do."
"That's too easy, we should really be doing this while blindfolded."
It took awhile, and Erin stayed until after five o'clock, something totally unheard of, in order to finish the puzzle.
And like all puzzles of this nature, there was one piece missing. One freaking piece!
I've had enough of jigsaw puzzles for a while.
Later that night, just after watching the District 9 film, and finishing up a little administrative work (I've fallen behind in my RSCON paperwork (Residential Service Coordinator (case manager) Observation Notes, and was in fear that the Client's Committee would chastise me quite harshly for falling behind), when I injected a blank DVD into my computer in order to burn part of the "Woodstock," movie for Erin. Nothing happened. Usually when one inputs a blank DVD disk into a computer, something happens, usually an automatic prompt asking what to do with the disk. But nothing happened. I tried a different blank disk, Nothing. What the? It had been working earlier in the day. I tried a DVD movie, then a CD, still nothing. I rebooted, I tried to troubleshoot, I tried different methods of intervention. Nothing. I gave up and went to bed, watching Stephen Colbert discuss the upcoming marriage of Archie and Veronica on TV.
Up at four the next morning, I tried it again. Nothing.
I hate it when stuff like this happens. I decided to take it back to Frys, where I bought it.
I have until December 7th on the warranty I purchased after buying my HP Slimline, so money was not an issue. And this clearly seemed to be a hardware problem (possible optical reader failure), not software, which is not covered under the warranty. But Frys is all the way in Burbank, near the airport there, and a long and boring bus trip awaited me.
I bucked up though. I left my box just after seven, taking my collapsible dolly (conveyance consisting of a wheeled platform for moving heavy objects) incase I had to cart a loaner computer back home. I took my computer in my backpack) with me, was at Frys by eight twenty, was told that what was causing the problem was just a software glitch which was easily adjusted (so Windows was at fault. Damn you, Microsoft!), he adjusted it, and it now works, left Frys and was back downtown by ten.
And back in my box typing. As a matter of fact I'm typing this right now.
I'll type some more later.

Woodstock

As I write this at seven in the morning, exactly forty years ago today, Jimi Hendrix had just ended his two hour set at the Woodstock Music and Art Fair, the final act of the four day event (it was billed as 3 days of peace and music, but due to many factors it stretched out to four), arguably the greatest concert ever produced, at least the best known. He was scheduled to begin at three in the morning, but again due to delays, began near eight o'clock local time to a diminished crowd, as it was now Monday morning and many of the concert's weekend attendees had to, or already had departed. The festival's producers had offered Hendrix a midnight spot, but realizing the magnitude and historic nature of the concert, he desired to keep the position as the final performer.
And he dominated. The film "Woodstock" begins and ends with Hendrix guitar licks (except for the song, "Woodstock," played during the end credits), he will ever be linked to this event, and his rendition of The Star Spangled Banner will remain a symbol of the concert.
He died exactly 13 months later, on September 18, 1970.
Last night I spent a little over three and a half hours watching the musical documentary, "Woodstock," and considered it time well spent. Although the concert was a tad before my time (I am glad there at least a few things that remain before my time, the Vietnam War being one of them. I was only 13 years old at the time of the concert, and most likely oblivious of the event), though throughout my later teens and twenties I became familiar with the festival and its music, by the film and the albums.
But watching the movie again aroused my curiosity, and the film hardly represents what actually occurred during those four days in August of 1969.
And I can't tell the whole story here, but I can tell a little, and this is what I found out.
The film rightly states the the concert was a commercial enterprise, meaning the promoters wanted to make money. The bands wanted to make money. Max Yasgur, the owner of the property that the concert took place on, a dairy farm, wanted to make money. Everyone wanted to make money. Whether they did or not is not known. Certainly the producers didn't, the reason being, too many people showed up, and they had not anticipated the crowds, did not plan far enough ahead, were basically caught with their pants down, and were pretty much forced to declare the concert as being "free."
The band, Creedence Clearwater Revival was the first act to sign up for the festival, agreeing to play for $10,000.00. In all 32 acts performed before crowds estimated between 300,000 to half a million. The local community was overwhelmed. Traffic was at a standstill, sanitation facilities were inadequate, as was the availability of food and medical care. At least two fatalities were reported, one a drug overdose (yes, they may have used illegal psychotropic substances at Woodstock, I'm shocked to report), and one person asleep in a nearby hayfield was run over by a tractor. To balance things out, two births were recorded at the event. Sadly four miscarriages were recorded as well.
By watching the movie you would think that the music stopped every evening, then began again the next day, with only one band, Jefferson Starship, obviously beginning its set early in the morning and waking the slumbering crowd. That was not so. It was a 24/3&1/3 concert, with top name bands playing one after the other, around the clock (weather permitting, it rained a couple of times).
Creedence, for some reason only known to John Fogerty, wanted a 3AM slot, and insisted on not being included in the film.
Other artists included: Joan Baez, one of the few acts my lovely case manager, Erin, would be familiar with, was the last scheduled act of the first day's performances; Santana, and The Who, which I've seen both in concert here in L.A. The Who was great... Santana, not so much; The Grateful Dead (not included in the film, although shots of Jerry Garcia holding up a joint (marijuana cigarette) are in the movie); Janis Joplin (who died just 13 and a half months later, 16 days after Hendrix, both of drug overdoses); Sly and the Family Stone, who I once partied with in a hotel in Hollywood (long story); Joe Cocker; The Band (also not in the film); Ten Years After; Crosby, Stills, and Nash (their second public performance, and without Neil Young, despite what Wikipedia says), Hendrix and 21 other acts.
Notable acts of the time that were invited to attend, but declined, were The Doors; my favorite, Led Zeppelin (although I will always admire them for their work in the studio, rather than their live performances); another favorite, Jethro Tull (too many "unwashed hippies," for Ian Anderson, strange sentiment for the writer of "Aqualung"); Joni Mitchell, who wrote a song commemorating the event, aptly titled, "Woodstock," which became a major hit for Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young; The Byrds; The Moody Blues; and Bob Dylan, who's recently been burglarizing houses in New Jersey, so I'm told.
They've cleaned up the mess left by concert's attendees over the years, and a plaque has been placed in the field where the concert took place in honor of the historic event, as well as memorials for Hendrix, Joplin, and Jerry Garcia (who passed away in 1995). Wikipedia tells us: "The Museum at Bethel Woods opened in June 2008. The Museum contains film and interactive displays, text panels, and artifacts which explore the unique experience of the Woodstock festival, its significance as the culminating event of a decade of radical cultural transformation, and the legacy of the Sixties and Woodstock today."
I will offer a copy of the film, "Woodstock," to my lovely case manager, as I believe her to be a little hippie girl at heart (her "Free Love" blouse proves it), and quite possibly a reincarnation of one of the lovely ladies who attended Woodstock, forty years ago today.
Even though I don't believe in reincarnation.

Dancing Through Minefields

First of all, a question/remark/observation for my lovely case manager, Erin, who hails from the frothy shores of New Jersey. What's up with your state?!
First there are the arrests of 44 people in a sting operation for corruption charges, money laundering, and trafficking in human organs, including 2 state assembly members, the mayors of Ridgefield, Secaucus, and Hoboken, and a bunch of Rabbis!
Now it seems that poor old music legend Bob Dylan was taking a stroll through Long Branch, New Jersey recently, just passing the time before his next show, looking at houses, when stopped and harassed by the local police department, who did not recognize him. Since when is walking through a neighborhood scouting, I er mean, checking out houses with no ID, and carrying a bunch of burglary tools a crime? What has this country come to Erin, I ask you, WHAT HAS IT COME TO? I certainly will not be visiting the garden state anytime soon. Especially with my EZ Snap Lock Pick Gun.
I saw the film, "The Hurt Locker," over the weekend with a friend of mine, Heather, and her boyfriend, Gil. We saw it at what is now called the Arclight Theater, in Hollywood. This used to be called the Cinerama Dome, as the theater looked like a big box with the top third of a huge golf ball sticking up through the roof, before it became a multiplex. I've gone to this particular theater throughout my life. My father took me there to see the James Bond film, "Thunderball," when it first came out. I saw both, "2001 A Space Odyssey," and "2010," it's sequel, fifteen years later, under the dome. Most recently I've been there to watch "Reservation Road," the exceptionally depressing film concerning a tragic hit and run incident, starring Jennifer Connelly and Mira Sorvino, and of course now, "The Hurt Locker."
This film follows the exploits of an Explosive Ordinance Disposal (EOD) team of the U.S. Army, in Baghdad during the Iraq occupation, in 2004. The picture above is taken from the film. It is of a soldier wearing a bombsuit, which is designed to protect him while trying to defuse bombs.
And there are a lot of bombs! All over the place. One particularly harrowing scene involved the protagonist attempting to defuse a bomb he has found buried in a dusty street. After defusing it he finds more wires leading to other possible bombs. Instead he finds more wires, eventually pulling up from the earth six or seven bombs surrounding him in a circle.
"Oh, my," he says.
He manages to defuse them, but that scene was early on in the film, and there are a lot more chances for everyone to get blown up.
Or shot. A lot of people get shot in this movie. As a matter of fact, if you are offered a cameo appearance in this film, dear readers, I would seriously consider turning it down.
I think the point of the movie is to demonstrate what a dangerous environment our soldiers are working in while deployed in Iraq, and that you rarely know who the real enemy is because everyone looks the same. It also documents the mentality one must maintain in order to survive, the toll of living under constant stress, and the special skills one develops in these unique situations, skills that are hardly transferable to civilian life. It also tells a very interesting story about some very interesting characters, almost essential in films.
I have never had to defuse a bomb while serving in the Navy. But I did serve on a minesweeper once. For an entire weekend. Let me set this up.
Fresh out of Boot Camp, and after a failed attempt to finish electronics school (booze), the Navy lost my personnel records, thereby stranding me at the Navel Training Center, in San Diego. I was assigned to the Transient Barracks Unit, which was where those folks awaiting orders, like me, or just passing through, lived. I was made the manager of the place, checking sailors and sailorettes in and out. My boss was a Master Chief Boiler Technician (snipe). My supervisor was a First Class Boatswainsmate (the guy who steers the ship).
I liked the job, mainly because I didn't have to do much, and I had the run of the place. The Master Chief thought I was his son for some reason, and let me get away with anything, the First Class was another story.
After catching me in the laundry/pool hall area slugging down a cold one during working hours (by the way, they have beer vending machines on military bases, at least on that one they did, the greatest invention ever made!) one day, he thought up and interesting punishment, which I'm sure amused him greatly. He had me and a friend of mine assigned to a minesweeper during its weekend exercises.
This would have been the first ship I'd actually stepped foot on after joining the service. That was okay, might even be fun.
Except I came on board so hung over I could hardly move, and would remain sick throughout the voyage.
This is what I remember of it. Being dragged out of my bunk, and told to report on deck for minesweeping exercises. And this is what we did.
A minesweeper is the only U.S. Navel vessel that is made out of wood. It is made out of wood so as not to attract magnetic mines and get itself blown up. A minesweeper sweeps mines in two ways. First, it drags a looped thick cable behind its stern (looped meaning the two ends of the cable are both kept attached to the deck of the ship). This cable, apparently transmits a pulse that detonates magnetic mines.
We couldn't manage to keep both ends on deck though, one end breaking off and winding into the sea (not my fault). We spent the rest of the day retrieving it (it was really big, long, and heavy).
The other way a minesweeper sweeps mines is to drag out two submerged chains behind it in a V pattern, each chain fitted with explosive catches at equal intervals along the chain, the idea being as the ship sweeps a submerged mine field (assuming the ship doesn't hit one) mines attached to cables will get caught in the explosive catches, which cut the cables, releasing the mines which float to the surface, where they are simply shot at until they explode.
We did that the second day.
The night before, of course, still sick as hell, I was awarded the mid-watch (midnight until four), outside as a lookout, in an actual crows-nest, the highest point on the ship which was constantly swaying back and forth, up and down, sideways and byways. Four hours. Barf City.
When it was all over, me and my friend congratulated ourselves on a job well done, then headed for a bar.
Ah, the memories.
After the movie we went dancing in Hollywood at the Knitting Factory. Synchronized Hip Hop!

The State Of The Future

Our planet, our civilization, our future, and the future of all living things on this planet, face many growing problems that if we choose to ignore because of political inexpediency, or lack of foresight and courage, we place ourselves in great peril. At no other time in recorded history has the risk been so great, and the penalty for non-action so unforgiving.
Probably the best known of the many issues and challenges that face us as a species is that of global warming. It certainly has received its fair share of media attention, and the debate of whether global warming exists, whether it a man made phenomenon, and what actions need to be taken to minimize global warmings detrimental effects (like extinction of the American Pika), has been going on for decades.
I've discussed this issue before (see, Global Warming), and will now quote myself from that post: "Most of the current credible scientific opinion overwhelmingly agrees that global warming has been taking place over the last two hundred years. A recent survey by the University of Illinois at Chicago polled 3,146 earth scientists and 90% agreed that warming is taking place, and 82% agreed that human activity is a major contributor to this warming effect."
Still there are business factions, and their political allies who would do nothing about this vast, global problem. Their goals are short-sighted and irresponsible, grossly so. Due to the large amount of financial resources available to these factions, and the political influence that money can buy in our current system, the debate continues, and a large percentage of an uninformed populace are told to believe what these business interests want them to believe, and thus exert unfounded political and social pressure.
So there is a debate when there should be none. Even if global warming is a completely natural process, we would still need to deal with its various effects, such as rising ocean levels, crop failures, increased disease and pestilence, on and on. Our recent history indicates that our country is hesitant to act to alleviate these circumstances and the problem as a whole.
Global warming is one problem, one issue that faces us. There are others.
The World Federation of United Nations Associations (WFUNA) was founded in Luxemburg in 1946. The United States is a member.
The objectives of the WFUNA are:
To be a peoples' movement for the United Nations.
To coordinate and further the activities of its Members and to promote the establishment of new United Nations Associations.
To cooperate, where appropriate, with other organizations whose objects include the support of the United Nations and its development.
To promote tolerance, understanding, solidarity and cooperation among men, women and children throughout the world without distinction as to race, sex, language, religion or political orientation.
To contribute to the removal of obstacles to peace, to work for justice, security and disarmament, and to promote the development of peaceful coexistence and cooperation among nations.
To strive for the recognition of and respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms throughout the world and for the recognition of the responsibilities and duties which those rights involve for individuals, groups, and States.
To promote economic development, enhancement of social progress and better standards of life.
To promote research, information and education about the goals of the Charter of the United Nations and the work of the United Nations system.
One activity of WFUNA has been the Millennium Project, which is a think tank, and now exists in 32 countries, which consist of independent organizations and individuals from different institutions, such as government, corporations, non-government organizations, which cooperate with each other, and the Project, to provide a global perspective to the problems we face today as a species.
The Project publishes an annual "State of the Future," report, now in its thirteenth edition, containing close to 100 printed pages, and over 6,700 CD pages of research and analysis.
This report identifies 15 "Global Challenges," that have been tracked since 1997, which are updated annually, and are deemed to be vital concerns that humanity as whole now faces, and will continue to face in the predictable future. The descriptions of each challenge include a review of the current state of affairs, approaches to address the challenge, and regional perspectives. The 15 global challenges are as follows:
1. How can sustainable development be achieved for all?
2. How can everyone have sufficient clean water without conflict?
3. How can population growth and resources be brought into balance?
4. How can genuine democracy emerge from authoritarian regimes?
5. How can policymaking be made more sensitive to global long-term perspectives?
6. How can the global convergence of information and communications technologies work for everyone?
7. How can ethical market economies be encouraged to help reduce the gap between rich and poor?
8. How can the threat of new and reemerging diseases and immune micro-organisms be reduced?
9. How can the capacity to decide be improved as the nature of work and institutions change?
10. How can shared values and new security strategies reduce ethnic conflicts, terrorism, and the use of weapons of mass destruction?
11. How can the changing status of women help improve the human condition?
12. How can transnational organized crime networks be stopped from becoming more powerful and sophisticated global enterprises?
13. How can growing energy demands be met safely and efficiently?
14. How can scientific and technological breakthroughs be accelerated to improve the human condition?
15. How can ethical considerations become more routinely incorporated into global decisions?
Over the upcoming weeks we will explore each of these challenges individually, but then what?
It is not enough to identify a problem, or to research and analyze it. Action must be a result. There will always be factions that will resist action and attempt to maintain the status quo.
It is time for humanity to grow up, become pragmatic, and deal with the problems it faces, which are largely due to its own activities. To do otherwise is to provide a worried and uncertain existence for our children, grandchildren, and all future generations. 　

Sand

Field Trip!
Yesterday we had our long anticipated Skid Row Housing Trust field trip to the soggy beaches of Venice (California). All tenants were invited, from all of the 21 hotels that SRHT manages. One problem... only one bus.
But it was a big bus! All in all about 60 of us showed up at the Simone Hotel, just south of San Julian Park, at 9 o'clock. We were on time, but the bus wasn't. It was about forty minutes late, and a line formed immediately to get on.
I usually don't participate in big bawdy events like this, simply because I can go to the beach anytime I want, and don't need SRHT to get me there. And since all the hotels were participating, this assured that I would know almost no one going. Still, I had told my lovely case manager, Erin, that I would go and meet her at the beach (she lives in Santa Monica so she would walk to the event).
I did know some of the people there. My neighbor Robert was there (free food would be provided, which assured his attendance). My new neighbor from across the hall was there. Rodney was there. And the case manager who interviewed me when I first came to SRHT for a box was there, Vincent is his name. That was over six years ago, and he still remembered my name, which goes to show what a memorable person I am.
Three tables were loaded on the bus, big buckets of ice and sodas, boxes of Fritos and Doritos were loaded. Front seats were reserved for staff (pompous bastards), then we were finally allowed to board.
I took a seat next to Robert, who is borderline narcoleptic, and who was soon drifting in and out of consciousness, while leaning his 280+ pound body against my left shoulder. I tried as best as I could to read from Peter Straub's novel Shadowland, as the bus got on the Santa Monica freeway.
It took about 40 minutes to get there. The driver was soon navigating the narrow streets of Santa Monica and Venice, which was not easy in so large a vehicle. She got a little lost once, and had to ask directions from a pedestrian at one point.
Erin had told me that we would be meeting at a place called Ocean Park, so it was with a growing sense of discomfort that I noticed us passing by the Ocean Park road, and drove further south into Venice.
Soon we entered a parking lot next to the beach, and parked at its southern most point. We disembarked, unloaded the supplies and tables, and set everything up in a grassy area next to the beach.
But there was no Erin, no Paul. No other staff with the hot food that was promised. I began to think that we were at the wrong place.
It was a sunny day, the temperature was mild, mid 70s, it being near the Pacific Ocean and all. There was a lot of locals walking about in various modes of dress, or undress. A bike trail separated us from the beach, which was used frequently by bikers and skaters, and which our lot from downtown did not get the concept of, as they kept walking on it.
There was a lot of sand on the beach.
It tends to accumulate there.
A police helicopter buzzed the beach flying very low.
I stood around, hands in pockets, next to Robert who was fully awake now. For about 20 minutes I stood around waiting for something to happen, while the others took up positions on blankets and lawn chairs.
"Where is my case manager?" I asked Robert. He didn't know.
He did take up a position next to the boxes of Doritos and Fritos, and a few who knew Robert called out, "Step away from the food, Robert. Step away from the food." He smiled at them but did not move.
And sure enough, within a few minutes he could not resist the temptation, and stole one pack of the chips and stood there eating them. Vincent soon noticed, got up and gave him a well deserved dressing down.
Robert is a Republican. A black Republican, who voted for McCain in the last Presidential election, even though he has benefited personally from Obama's extensions of Unemployment Insurance (he used to work as a security guard, a borderline narcoleptic security guard. Guess why he got fired from his last job). He is a friend of mine, but he is also the kind of person who if you are stranded in the middle of the Sahara Desert with, and you come across a glass of water, he will gulp the whole thing down as fast as possible, then apologize for it, promising to never do it again, then do it again. Totally selfish and self absorbed, but a champion of so called Christian ethics. He doesn't practice them himself of course, but he champions them.
Anyway, an SUV finally arrived with the food (chicken, beans, potato salad), and I asked the lady staff member who drove about Erin.
"She's walking up," she said.
Lunch was served and I got a plate, and sat down on some posts near the parking lot. About half way through my meal I saw Erin and Paul walking towards us on the pedestrian path.
"Where have you been?" I asked her.
"Where Veronica told me we were going to meet two weeks ago. About twenty blocks from here."
"Wow, we've been here for about an hour now, and I kept wondering, where's my case manager?"
"I know. Veronica didn't answer her phone when I kept calling her. No one cared... no one cared," Erin said.
"I cared."
"Thank you for caring Rick." Then walked off to meet with their peer/staff buddies.
I finished my meal, and read from my book a little, then thought about leaving and taking the 720 back home. I would have to walk quite a bit to get to the Santa Monica pier, where the 720 leaves, but that was okay. I'd rather do that then ride back on that crowded bus with Robert slumped all over me again.
Soon Erin came over and we chatted. Veronica came over and took a picture of her between me and Robert (with Robert holding up two fingers behind Erin's head). Then Erin took off again for a staff portrait (pompous bastards (not Erin. She doesn't have a pompous bone in her body)).
Paul came over and said he was leaving to go help some other client. I asked him if he could give me a ride to Wilshire, but he said he didn't have the time.
I will have my revenge on Paul soon enough. Didn't have the time!
Erin came back. Three other female staff members walked by and asked Erin if she wanted to take a walk with them. Erin said yes, and asked me if I would like to come along, which I did.
We walked Venice Beach's famous Boardwalk, where they have paddle tennis courts, shops that sell everything, Muscle Beach where weight lifters work out. It was very busy with people, locals and tourists. Erin lives close by but doesn't walk the Boardwalk much as it's "too touristy." There were a least two places where one could acquire a medical marijuana certificate from doctor's for a price if one wanted. I abstained.
It was all very nice, and I enjoyed walking with my friend Erin. She was wearing a sort of like tube dress, and sometimes the wind would fill it up and she looked like one of those plastic inflatable dolls one finds outside of tire stores sometimes, advertising a sale.
We got through about three quarters down the Boardwalk when the ladies decided to head back. I took my leave of them at that point, wishing them a good weekend, and continued south, walking to the pier in Santa Monica, and the big bus that would take me across the Los Angeles basin and to my home.

Erin Inspects My Box

Inspector Erin


Apple Enchiladas

Last Monday I got the inside of my box painted.
This was a harrowing experience, which I've experienced twice now while living in this particular box, and I hope not to go through it again for a very long time.
It needed painting, I freely admit that, and now that it is done I'm glad for it, but while it was happening it was a big pain in the butt.
What prompted this action was an anticipated inspection of the entire building in which my box is located, scheduled for yesterday, Thursday, by some outside agency, who is unclear, that the management of the building was very concerned about. Most likely money, or future funding was involved, which Skid Row Housing Trust did not wish to lose by gaining the displeasure of said outside agency.
The walls inside of my box were, I'm afraid to say, rather dingy, to say the least, and if the upcoming inspection did not prompt the painting of it, I would have requested it anyway.
Okay, so Monday morning arrived, just after Sunday night, which is quite ordinary around this part of the country, and I had some prep to do before the painter arrived.
Now my box contains a small library of books. Approximately 500 of them, hardcover, and paperback, which I thought best to remove from my box to get them out of the way. It all started around six in the morning, and didn't end until seven that night. I took all of my books, in stacks, out into my hallway, near the fire escape window, leaving a pathway incase there actually was a fire that day (unlikely, the building is made of brick, which does not easily burn). I also removed as many lose items as I could. Then I moved the furniture on the east side of the box toward the center (my bed, and work desk), disconnected my computer, stuff like that, and waited for the painter who I thought would be there right at eight.
At eleven thirty the painter arrived, looked inside my box, looked at me disapprovingly, then got to work.
At only one point during the painting process did the painter ask for my assistance, right at the half way point, to move the furniture from the west side of my box to the center (very heavy drawers holding canned goods, and a hutch). My friend, Jose, took pity on my while I was sitting outside in the hallway, and invited me to his box to watch a movie (The Unborn). Right after that movie ended, I saw the painter leaving with all of his painting paraphernalia, so he was done. This was around three o'clock. It took until seven to get everything back inside, and reconnected, and somewhat back to normal.
I slept with the fumes of paint that night, with all three fans turned on to their maximum. But my box looks great.
So good that I invited my lovely case manager, Erin, up to take a look, telling her she should do so as fast as possible before I had it all mucked up again.
This she did yesterday, at around two-fifteen in the afternoon (after the Cooking Club... Spinach Fusilli). I was, and am, very proud of my new box, and wanted to share it with her.
She had not actually been inside it before, although she had seen peeks from the hallway. Yesterday I invited her inside to share all of my treasures.
"Wow, Rick," she said upon entering. "It all looks... kind of yellow..."
"It's white, Erin. White."
I showed her the mountains of books, the computer that I send her copious amounts of Email from, the stores of food I maintain on site (enough to feed a community of 30 for two months), my microwave oven, my swamp cooler, the wading pool and fireplace, etc. She was struck dumb with admiration by my pictures of Marge Simpson, Jolene Blalock, and my friend Odalys Garcia.
I happened to have the picture of the benevolent pika as the background picture on my computer at the time.
"The pika!" Erin exclaimed. "I love him!"
So do I.
I also showed her how at that very moment my computer was searching for radio signals of an extraterrestrial origen with the Seti At Home feature. She was dully impressed.
She checked out some of the many DVDs I happen to own, then told me she approved of my box.
"I like your box, Rick!"
"Why thank you, Erin."
Then she left.
Of course, the inspectors did not choose my box to inspect (they got Jose though), and I'm happy to report that the building overall passed inspection, taking the worry load off of my lovely resident manager, Tianna.
Now as an extra post bonus, Erin's recipe for apple enchiladas (which she stole from Re Donna):
Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 20 minutes
Ready in: 15 + 20= almost 35 minutes
Servings: 6
Erin says: "Apples rolled into tortilla. VERY delicious, easy and fast to make. Every time I take this dish to friends they say its great, and wonder at all the time and work I must have put into it, when its actually the easiest dish I know how to make. Substitute apples with peaches or cherries if desired."
Rick says: "These were absolutely the best apple enchiladas I've ever had!"
Erin says: "How many times have you had apple enchiladas, Rick?"
Rick says: "Ah, er, I can't quite remember, Erin, but these were absolutely the very best! Why don't you tell us how to make these tasty apple enchiladas, Erin."
Erin says: "Okay, Rick!"
Ingredients:
1 (21 once) can apple pie filling 1/2 cup white pimple causing sugar
6 (8 inch) flour tortillas 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/2 cup water
1/3 cup margarine
That's it!
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C).
Spoon fruit evenly onto all tortillas, sprinkle with cinnamon. Roll up tortillas and place seam side down on lightly greased 8x8 baking pan.
Bring margarine, sugars, and water to boil in a medium sauce pan. Reduce heat and simmer, stirring constantly for 3 minutes.
Pour sauce evenly over tortillas; sprinkle with extra cinnamon on top if desired. Bake in preheated oven for 20 minutes.
Makes 6 large tortillas; may be cut in half to serve 12.
Rick Says: "Serve with some nice ice cream if desired."
Erin says: "Enjoy!"