Spill 2

Deepwater Horizon

Built in South Korea, by Hyundai Heavy Industries Co. Ltd., in 1998 - 2000, the 32,688 ton Deepwater Horizon, ultra-deepwater, dynamically positioned (computer controlled), semi-submersible offshore drilling rig, was delivered to Transocean Ltd., the world's largest offshore drilling contractor, in February of 2001. It was one of approximately two hundred deepwater offshore rigs that are capable of drilling in more than 5000 feet of water (1 mile equals 5280 feet), and it held the record for drilling the deepest oil well in history at a vertical depth of 35,050. feet (6.63 miles). Its Port of registry was Majuro, in the Marshall Islands.
Since arriving in the Gulf of Mexico, Deepwater Horizon was under contract to BP Exploration, a division of the giant multi-national British Petroleum plc, the third largest energy company, and the fourth largest company, period, in the world. It cost BP $496,800 per day to lease the rig.
In April of this year, Deepwater Horizon was working BP's Mississippi Canyon Block 252, referred to as the Macondo Prospect, located approximately 51 miles off the coast of Louisiana, at a depth of 5000 feet.
On the night of April 20th a group of British Petroleum executives were aboard celebrating the project's safety record. Workers were busy attempting to convert the well from an exploration well to a working, production well, setting and testing a cement seal previously put in place by workers of the oil services company, Halliburton. Apparently what is known as a "blow out" occurred creating a methane gas bubble that shot up the drill column, expanding quickly as it burst through several seals and barriers. Sea water shot back through the column hundreds of feet into the air. Methane gas followed the sea water, then oil, which ignited, causing a massive explosion that cost the lives of nine rig crew members and two engineers. Seventeen others were injured.
The blow out created a huge oil and methane gas leak on the seabed floor dumping anywhere from 210,000 gallons (BP's worst case estimate), to much as 2,900,000 gallons of oil a day, or more (these figures of course represent estimates from different sources. The responsible party and vested interest, BP uses the lower figure, independent analysts higher figures).
The Deepwater Horizon never recovered and sank two days later, on April 22, and is now resting on the seafloor almost a mile down and a quarter of a mile northwest of the spewing well.
As we've seen earlier, the Exxon Valdez was responsible for dumping approximately 11 million gallons of oil into the Prince William Sound, with a total estimated cost upward of 7 billion dollars, and counting. In comparing the two incidents one needs to keep in mind that oil spills of this type occur on a regular basis around the world, but receive little or no public scrutiny (in the U.S. at least) due to the fact that they take place in third world countries where environmental regulations are not as strict, and where they are actively obscured by the perpetrators of the spills themselves.
Amy Westervelt in The Faster Times writes: "In Nigeria, for example, every year since 1969, oil operations in the Niger Delta have spilled as much oil as the 1989 Exxon Valdez. Let that sink in for a minute … an Exxon Valdez spill every year. There are 2,000 ongoing spills in the country. The AP reported earlier this month that last year Royal Dutch Shell alone spilled a record 14,000 tons (over 4 million gallons) of crude oil in the Niger Delta... The Niger Delta is the largest wetland in Africa, spanning 20,000 square miles and inhabited by some 150 species, all now endangered thanks to oil spills."
Even closer to home here in the Gulf of Mexico, despite the many claims of proponents of offshore drilling and Republican law makers, drilling is not completely safe, and there have been hundreds of recorded spills before, during, and since Hurricane Katrina struck in 2005.
The main difference between the Valdez spill and Deepwater is that the Alaskan spill was finite in volume, meaning 11 million gallons escaped into the sound while the remainder (and majority) of the ship's cargo was transfered safely to other vessels and storage facilities.
By contrast, the Deepwater spill is infinite in nature, that is until the spill sources are closed permanently (there are 3 of them), which may not be for several months as new relief wells are drilled, the oil continues to spill into the Gulf. If those who estimate the higher volume is escaping into open water are correct, that would be equal to one Exxon Valdez spill occurring every three and a half days, and the spill is nearly a month old at this point (BP has been successful in inserting a six inch in diameter tube into the leaking 21 inch pipe, and has begun siphoning approximately 2,000 to 3,000 gallons a day into a tanker, which is just a small fraction of what is leaking into open water (picture a mile long bendy straw positioned into the mouth of a running garden hose). To date, about 6.6 million gallons of an oil-water mix have been recovered. More than 1.3 million feet of containment boom and 400,000 feet of sorbent boom (absorbs oil) have been deployed to contain the spill, according to the Deepwater Horizon Response website).
In Part 3 of this post we will discuss the economic and environmental consequences of this tragedy, and who should be held responsible for the accident. For now we must keep in mind that the spill is ongoing and not limiting itself to the waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Last Wednesday morning the European Space Agency released photographs indicating the oil has entered a powerful current, known as the Loop Current, that will carry the oil into the Florida Keys, home to the third largest coral reef in the world, Cuba, and the Eastern Seaboard.
As far back as May 4th, David Fleshler and William E. Ginson wrote in the Sun Sentinel that Florida Gov. Charlie Crist has "extended a state of emergency south to Sarasota County. Everglades National Park, Big Cypress National Preserve, Dry Tortugas National Park and Biscayne National Park began disaster preparations, establishing a response team comparable to that set up for hurricanes... Florida faces the risk of oil washing up on beaches, smothering sea turtle hatchlings, ruining shorebird nests, and killing a wide range of coastal wildlife."
Tuesday the 18th, 50 or so, 3 to 8 inch in diameter tar balls were found on the beaches of the Florida Keys. The next day the Coast Guard stated conclusively that they were not from the Deepwater Spill, and their source remained unknown.
Their showing up at the same time a giant oil spill has been generated nearby, well, that's just a coincidence I guess.
We shall see.
This morning, while posting my wishes for a happy birthday to my lovely case manager, my television tuned to CNN was displaying a video of heavy oil from the BP spill fouling the sensitive marshes of Louisiana.
"The heavy oil is here," Governor Jindal said. "This was the day everybody was worried about, everybody was concerned about. That day is here, that heavy oil is in the marshes."
It has been an entire month now since the Deepwater Horizon explosion, and the oil still gushes.

To be continued.

Happy Birthday Erin!

Happy Birthday to my lovely and esteemed case manager, and dear friend, Miss Erin, who celebrates her 26th trip around the Sun today!

Salvation Diary 31

"Salvation" artist Amanda Milke
http://amandamilke.wordpress.com/

Jail for the most part (and I have some experience) is boring. Like an isolation tank, one starves for some form of external stimulus. As far as I know, in all of the small city jails smoking is not allowed, so if you're a smoker you'll be more on edge and more conscious of your bleak surroundings than you'd normally be, and more depressed. There is usually no television, no reading material, you're damn lucky if you have a window to look out of. And if you do have a window, the bars on it are a constant reminder of where you are at, which depresses you further, to the point that you won't feel much like looking out of that window after a while. The only break in the monotony are the three meals one receives each day. TV dinners for lunch and dinner, dry cereal and a cup of milk and coffee for breakfast.
You could try talking to your fellow inmates to wile away the hours, or days, but it's not very rewarding. For some unexplained reason (a survival mechanism perhaps) the majority of men and women, once incarcerated, revert to a subhuman level of thought and speech. Vulgarity is the norm, with a lot of "homeboys," and Holmes," thrown in. Besides from offering their many and varied tales of how they came to be in jail, they sadly have very little to offer in the way of entertainment.
So it's a fine place to catch up on lost sleep and wonder what will happen when you finally get to court.
One other piece of bad news. If you happen to get busted on a Friday or Saturday, and you don't happen to have the money required for bail, and you've been so busy as to never had the time to develop the necessary social skills to have anyone out in the "free" world who is willing to put up said bail money for you... you're fucked. You're in jail for the whole weekend because there are no courts open on the weekend. The best and only thing to do is sit back, relax and wait to see the judge come Monday.
So I do not envy Dennis his weekend.
He told me that he had already satisfied the demands of the Sacramento court which had issued the warrant and that his arrest had been in error. If that is indeed the case he should be out of jail in a jiffy sometime Monday morning. That is if the charge he was stopped for to begin with was a minor one. A broken tail light, or no registration tag, or something the court would give him time served for.
He was very vague over the phone about what exactly the charges from Sacramento had been, so he may not have been telling me the whole truth, in which case he could be in the slammer indefinitely.
For myself, I had a rather pleasant day. After chapel Ron and I met Skip Fennel at the American Legion 11:30AM A.A. speaker meeting. The speaker was a pretty, 25 year old female type art student. I instantly admired her composure and wit. Her ability to talk in front of a large group for over 50 minutes amazed me. She had four years of sobriety! My God! I was so screwed up when I was her age (not that I'm that much older).
I fell in love.
After the meeting I went to the park for an hour, laying out in the sun while listening to classic rock and roll, and reading "White Knights," by Dostoevsky.
Fyodor Dostoevsky in case you were wondering which one.
Another beautiful day in Pasadena.
I spent much of the evening watching movies on television. "Escape from Alcatraz," and "First Blood." "Star Trek, the Next Generation," and "Married with Children," of course. I watched these while reading "The Eye of the Dragon," by Stephen King.
Then I went to bed. Tomorrow is the day of the big blood test.


May 20 Monday Day 251


I got up at about 10:00. I showered and dressed, then went to have a bite to eat.
I wrote in the lobby until almost 1:00, then it was time to get to the bus stop.
A straight shot north on Fair Oaks Blvd., the bus let me off directly in front of the Jackie Robinson Health Center. A clean modern building set in the middle of a lower class neighborhood. On the other side of the street, across from the Center, lies the large recreational park where Larry and I spent most of the afternoon of my second day at the A.R.C. Sure enough, as I looked over at the park, Salvation Army Red Shield 17 was parked, with Red Shield 11 pulling up.
I entered the one story building and made my way to room 200, the Health Care Center. The waiting room was full, and I had to stand in line in order to check in with the receptionist. When I reached her she verified my name on the appointment list, and gave me two forms to fill out. One of them had "HIV Test" written in big letters across the top, which I kept sort of close to my chest as I walked across the lobby so no one would be able to read it and know why I was there. God, they might think I was a fag, or something.
Not that I have anything against gay people. In fact, I've had several close friends who were gay or bisexual. As long as they didn't try to seduce me we could be friends (although I don't think I'd mind a lesbian trying to seduce me).
I needn't have worried. No lesbians tried to seduce me, and almost everyone there was getting an HIV test. There was an equal amount of men and women in the waiting room. Maybe it's the fashionable thing to do these days, take these types of tests. There were secretaries here on their lunch hour, housewives, young men. Everyone seemed very nonchalant about it, as if it's a normal everyday thing to inquire if you have a life threatening incurable illness, or a carrier of a fatal disease. I suppose I looked nonchalant as well, although I had my hat covering the top of my form still.
I had brought the Dostoevsky book with me, and finished reading "White Knights," while waiting. Like many of his stories I can personally relate to the situation and feelings of the male characters. "White Knights," if it does not capture the particulars, at least describes the general theme of my entire love life as a young man in grade school. I almost damn near broke down in tears after reading it, and if I had done so, I'm sure everyone waiting in the lobby would have been sure that I'd already received the results of my positive test, and taken pity on me, and attempt to counsel me, if they weren't so afraid to touch me.
I should stick to Dostoevsky's comedies. And I would too, if I could find one.
After what seemed like days my name was finally called, and I was ushered into a small office by a young Hispanic woman who had a bit of trouble pronouncing my first name. She asked if this was indeed my first test for HIV antibodies. I assured her that it was. She asked why I was taking the test, why I thought I may have been infected. I told her why. She explained that from the time of initial infection to the time the test would be able to detect the antibodies could be anywhere from 3 to 6 months. I let her know that I understood that.
She gave me a date, June 5th, after 3:00PM, to come back to the center to get the test results. She also let me know that whatever the results of the test proved to be, positive or negative, I would be taken to a small closed room to receive them, in case I had questions to ask.
I guess another reason she told me that was so I wouldn't drop dead on the spot from heart failure when asked to step into the depressing privacy of a very small, doom room.
She let me go after I signed a form verifying that I had been counseled. I thanked her, then was ushered into another room to await the needle.
After the blood was withdrawn I left the center and took the bus back to the residence. As luck would have it I arrived just in time for dinner (little lumps of meat somewhat resembling meat loaf).
I sat with Barbara Grothe. We discussed how our days had gone. I tried not to give away any information about what I'd been up to all afternoon.
Reuben Smith sat down (back to his old self) and told us of the horrible nightmare he'd had the night before.
"I had a dream last night," he said. "In it I woke up SERIOUS! It was awful! My heart pounded. Blood rushed to my head. I thought I was gonna have a cerebral hemorrhage!"
Kevin Rockoff had gone on a first date with a girl he'd found in the Christian Singles. An ex-lawyer Apache Indian. Apparently they hit it off. At least Kevin is on cloud nine. Good for him!
I watched the fifth episode of "The Astronomers," concerning planetary exploration, with a particularly exciting look into the Jet Propulsion Laboratory right here in Pasadena The focus of the show was on the Voyager imaging team, before, during, and after it's encounter with Neptune and it's moons. A beautiful and majestic planet, at this time the furthest known planet from the sun (Pluto being inside Neptune's orbit until later in the decade).
After the show I walked downstairs to talk to Robert and found out a few things.
Jack Crossley, the perennial desk man, has found himself a job somewhere in Vernon, California (wherever that is). He starts on Wednesday. He will continue to live here for at least two weeks (maybe four), before he has to move elsewhere.
I wish him well.
And no one has heard from Dennis Smith. I would have thought he would have called today. In any case, he is no longer an employee here. They fired him. Gave him the boot.
And Robert tells me that as far as he was concerned Dennis is also out of the program, and out of the residence.
Terminated.
A.C.O.
I wish Dennis well too.


May 21 Tuesday Day 252


At breakfast I asked Jack Crossley if he would "watch the line," count the men off five at a time as they came into the dinning room to eat. I told him that it would do my heart good to see him there one more time.
He said he would do it.
The morning went rather quickly. After I dropped the paperwork off at the front office, I ran what urine samples there were to run, then played with the amphetamine assays, trying to figure out why they had been giving me bazaar readings lately.
I got finished trying to figure that out at about 10:00, after which I began writing in my office.
After lunch I saw Maggie Harbottle and Major Foote. They effectively cut me from the Vocational Rehabilitation Program. I won't take what they feel I should take in school, so Maggie said she will refuse to sponsor me. She described my desire to be a drug and alcohol rehabilitation counselor as being unrealistic. I told her that I'd read almost everything there is available on the subject, that I'd been told that I'd be a good counselor from all of the counselor's who worked here, and that my own counselor refers to me as his counselor. I suggested that for me to do anything else than enter the drug and alcohol rehabilitation field would indeed be "unrealistic."
It's hard to tell her anything though. She keeps talking all of the time. It's hard to get a word in edgewise.
Women.
The subject of this book came up in conversation. Maggie said that I would probably write about how she and the state of California wouldn't give a dime to help me.
I let her know that I would write that only if it were true.
Which it is.
Just before I got off work I received a call from Dennis Smith. He had just been released from county jail, and was in a big hurry to get back here as fast as possible. He asked me if he still had a job here. I told him that I didn't think that he did.
"What a crock of shit," he said.
I told him that he should come on back anyway and talk to Clarence Orion.
I purposely did not come down to see Jill today, even though the temptation to do so was great. I wanted to see how much she missed me when I was not around.
As far as I can discern she did not miss me at all. I don't believe she even noticed I was missing.
And now, by my not being there, she's probably already forgotten my entire existence.
Dennis did come back, and I talked to him briefly. He'll more than likely re-enter the program tomorrow, as a client. He said he would stay at a motel for the night.
After being here an entire year, my old friend Reuben Perez, the man who gave me my Big Book when I first arrived here because he was the center's book man at the time, and who was the current laundry man, came to me at the desk at 8:00PM, and said he was "disgusted with everything," and checked out. V.C.O.
I wish him well.
I watched the movie, 48 Hours," with Nick Nolte and Eddie Murphy up in my lonely room, while reading "The Three Pillars of Zen," by Kapleau. I read from the Bible also.
After the movie the news came on, as it is want to do. I learned that Inderia Gandhi's son, Raji, the leader of India since his mother's assassination, was himself assassinated by a radio controlled bomb hidden in some flowers. The explosion tore his head off and ripped his body to shreds.
I also found out that there were twice as many cases of AIDs reported last April than there were the same time a year ago.
So, I watched "Cheers," before going to sleep in the hopes that it would lift my spirits. I remember thinking, what do I do if they say, yes, I do have HIV. How will I take it?
Then I fell asleep.


May 22 Wednesday Day 253


Another fine Salvation Army day.
I kept busy for most of it. Ran some urine, picked the weekly dorm awards, switched some bunk assignments. Same old stuff.
We've got about a full house. 105 raging alcoholics and drug addicted individuals.
I moved Tom Rotsch from dorm 4, into Don Erwin's old room. Tom is now a part time night crawler type person. He's also taking a math class on Tuesday and Thursday evenings (I don't know why). The private room will give him a nice place to study.
I'm pleased to report that the Dennis Smith saga continues. After retrieving his car from impound he returned to our happy fold- as a client. We immediately slapped a 30 day restriction on his young ass to help him stay out of trouble. We'll try to make sure he doesn't hurt himself.
We talked a little, he and I. I and he. I and him. We discussed what a fun place county jail is. I did manage to wrangle out of him why the police had stopped him in the first place, allowing them to run a warrant check. Illegal U-turn. It just goes to show... it's one damn thing after another.
I gave Kevin Rockoff some advice on how to meet women while riding the bus.
"What you've got to understand, Kevin, "I explained, "is that girls crave affection and physical contact. They love to be held. Makes them feel secure. So, the next time you see a pretty lady on the bus, sit down next to her and put your hand right on her knee. I'm not kidding! They love that straight forward kind of action. Oh, they might not act like it at first. As a matter of fact they may seem a little hostile and say rude things to you. They may even try to hit you. Don't pay any attention to them. They're just being coy. Persevere! Keep that hand right on that knee, even slide it up a little maybe. Let them know you care."
I can't seem to get the subject of AIDs out of my mind. Tonight's AIDs Seminar didn't help matters much in that respect. My entire desk crew and I were scheduled to attend. I got out of it only because someone had to stay at the desk.
I know enough about AIDs.
I watched a "Cheers," rerun after I finished my shift. Good show. Great ensemble work. I remember when the show first started and was going to be canceled due to low ratings. Now it's number one in the nation.
I couldn't get to sleep. I tossed and turned until 3:30 or so.
Tomorrow would be a long day.

Spill

"Worse than negligent but less than malicious."

It happened at four minutes after midnight, March 24, 1989.
These oil tankers are enormous. The Exxon Valdez measured almost eight stories tall, 166 feet wide, and 987 feet long, more than the length of three football fields.
It was carrying 53.6 million gallons of Prudhoe Bay crude oil when it left the Valdez Oil Terminal (where 3 to 4 of these tankers depart each day), in Valdez Alaska, at 9:13PM. It's destination was nearby Long Beach, California.
One of the oldest least known professions is that of a navigational pilot, a local mariner who is hired to help a vessel through congested or dangerous waters. On March 23rd, 1989, pilot William Murphy successfully guided the massive ship through the Valdez Narrows, with Captain Joe Hazelwood at his side. Upon entering Prince William Sound, Murphy left the ship and the Captain took over full command.
At 32 Joe Hazelwood had become the youngest Captain working for the Exxon's shipping company. He had been a Captain for 10 years before the Valdez incident. He was also an alcoholic who had been drinking vodka in a bar earlier in the evening (he was cleared of charges of being drunk on duty afterwards due to technicalities).
Icebergs were encountered in the Sound's out going sea lanes, and permission was sought after and gained from the Coast Guard for the ship to enter the incoming lanes to avoid them. Captain Hazelwood then left the bridge handing over control of the ship to the Third Mate, with specific instructions to return to the outgoing lanes at a certain point. He retired to his quarters.
For reasons that still remain unclear the Third Mate failed to return to the correct shipping lanes and the Exxon Valdez ran aground on the Bligh Reef (named after Captain Bligh, of The Bounty fame) at 12:04AM, rupturing it's hull and allowing 11 million gallons (only 1/5 of what the tanker was carrying) of crude oil to escape into the Sound.
The bulk of the oil spilled was released within 6 hours of the grounding. The Alyeska Pipeline Service Company was immediately notified of the accident and a tub was dispatched to help stabilize the Valdez. However the Spill Response Barge was out of service at the time and didn't arrive until 3:00PM. Still, it was overwhelmed with the magnitude of the spill, wherein Exxon took full responsibility for the accident and the subsequent clean up efforts.
For the first few days after the spill a large concentration of the oil remained close to Bligh Reef. A storm on March 26, with winds ranging up 70 MPH dispersed the oil over a much larger area, eventually covering 1,300 miles of coastline and 11,000 square miles of ocean.
Wikipedia tells us: "Thousands of animals died immediately; the best estimates include 100,000 to as many as 250,000 seabirds, at least 2,800 sea otters, approximately 300 harbor seals, 247 bald Eagles, and 22 orcas, as well as the destruction of billions of salmon and herring eggs. The effects of the spill continued to be felt for many years afterwards," and still continue ("despite the extensive cleanup attempts, less than ten percent of the oil was recovered and a study conducted by the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) determined that as of early 2007 more than 26 thousand gallons of oil remain in the sandy soil of the contaminated shoreline, declining at a rate of less than 4% per year").
It is estimated that Exxon spent 2 billion dollars while attempting to clean up the spill, and an additional 1 billion settling associated civil and criminal complaints.
An Anchorage jury awarded 5 billion dollars in punitive damages, which at the time (1994) was equal to one year's profit for the company (19.42 billion in 2009, down from 44.06 billion in 2008). Exxon felt that it should not have to pay more than 25 million because the spill was a result of an accident, and appealed the decision to the U.S. 9th Circuit Court of Appeals (after obtaining a 4.8 billion line of credit from J.P. Morgan & Co., in case the judgment was upheld. This gave J.P. Morgan the opportunity to create the first Credit Default Swap (CDS), a financial instrument that would play a prominent role in the Wall Street collapse of 2008).
After several decisions and appeals to the 9th Circuit, the case made its way to the Supreme Court, where the award was construed as excessive, and the case remanded back to a lower court.
Exxon's actions were deemed "worse than negligent but less than malicious," which I suppose made them "neglicious."
That judgment limited punitive damages to the compensatory damages, which was calculated as $507.5 million.
Litigation continues to this day.
Although the largest spill recorded within United States waters, the Exxon Valdez spill ranks down around the 50 range for worldwide spills according to volume released. However due to the remoteness of the area where the spill took place and the difficulty that presented when attempting to contain and clean up the aftereffects, this event is believed to be the largest disaster as far as human-caused environmental damage in history (excluding global warming).
And then came Deepwater Horizon...

To be continued.

Happy Birthday Nikki!

Happy Birthday wishes to the lovely actress, and L.A. Girl, Nikki Reed, who is all of 22 years old today.

Catch Up

Tori


Melanie


Chloe

First off... Happy Birthday wishes go out to two of my very favorite actresses, Tori Spelling and Melanie Lynskey, who were born on the very same day although about 6,700 miles apart. The former right here in Los Angeles, and the later in New Zealand. Happy Birthday ladies. Live long and prosper.
As the title of this post would suggest there is a few items that need to be mentioned in order to catch up to our current state of events, and I will not necessarily relate them in chronological order because that's just the way I am.
Let's start off with yesterday morning and my interesting existence. Since there were no worthwhile movies on my basic cable service yesterday, I spent the morning watching the National Geographic Channel, which was dealing with astronomical matters. I've been doing this more and more lately as I work, and have become quite comfortable on crab boats fishing the Bering Sea (which looks like fun... if you're the captain), and logging in the Pacific Northwest. But this morning we actually went out of the solar system to explore extra-solar planets (planets that orbit stars other than our own). I visited a planet that was so close to it's sun it's year equaled just 4 1/2 days, and another, about 5 times the mass of Earth, that was completely covered with liquid water. A true Waterworld, not like that Kevin Costner thing.
Spent some time on Uranus, Pluto, and Mars as well. Let's see my lovely case manager Erin beat that (she thinks riding around on her bicycle on Venice Beach, and drinking Horny Margaritas in bars is a big deal... Ha)!
Also finished reading a new Dean Koontz novel. I swear I'm addicted to these things, and I believe I've read every freaking one of them, even though, as I was explaining to case manager Paul, pretty much all of his novels follow the same basic formula. Average looking, but good natured and smart man hooks up with gorgeous, but good natured girl to overcome the most God awful situation or circumstance that Koontz can think up for them (and he can think up some good ones. Koontz is a very sick man and seriously needs some professional help). These two are usually pit against some super secret evil government agency, or serial killer, or serial killer working for a super secret government agency, or some supernatural or scientific horror, or any combination thereof. And they always triumph.
Usually there is a child or dog involved, or both, which was the case with the novel I finished yesterday, "Relentless." I recommend it.
Much easier read than Stephen King, who provides so much character information and back story you could scream. You can literally tear out up to three quarters of his books and not miss any important plot points.
Still love you though Steve. You just like to write too much.
Now I'd like to demonstrate how it is impossible to starve, or go hungry here on Skid Row. And I need to clarify for my lovely sister Cheryl, that I have plenty of food in my box, my refrigerator is filled up as a matter of fact... this is just a demonstration.
I've mentioned this before. There are some lovely people from the Well Mission Church who come down to 6th Street and Towne every morning at around 7:30 to hand out donuts. Well, sometimes at night I like to finish the evening with a sweet snack, and a nice donut fulfills that description. So Friday and yesterday morning I went out there, stood in line for about thirty minutes reading (always bring a book), and got about a dozen donuts for my trouble (a bowl of noodle soup too on Saturdays!).
It's interesting to note that as I was waiting in line Friday, a police cruiser passed by very slowly twice, surveying the assembled donut getters thoroughly, as if they'd find Joseph Mengele, the Nazi concentration camp Angel of Death hanging out, or something.
I can't really complain about the cops though. They were able to pick up the killer of Lilly Belle Burke about 30 minutes after her murder using the same tactics.
Also yesterday, I went over to the Hippie Kitchen to see if they were giving away any bagels, as sometimes in the early mornings, after exercising, I like to eat a nice buttered bagel, just like me and my dad used to do each morning after opening up his liqueur store for business. Well by golly, they were! Got about 5 bags of them as a matter of fact, with 3 bagels in each bag. That's almost exactly like 15 bagels... almost.
But right across the street from the Hippie Kitchen on Gladys Ave., were some different nice people actually cooking pancakes and eggs, so I moseyed over there, stood in line for about 5 minutes, and got some of that! 1 pancake and about 1 1/2 eggs, but what the hell, it was good... and I didn't have to make it!
Saw my old friend Ron there as well, and told him of Robert Bray's passing. He had known Bob, probably longer than I had, and was saddened.
Speaking of which, about 10 of us residents, Erin, Paul, and case manager Demitri from the Abbey Hotel, who used to have Paul's job, attended a memorial service in Long Beach last week for Robert, May 6th (Demitri and Erin fought over who would get me to ride shotgun with them. Erin won (she's pretty nimble, and has a strong right hook). Good thing to, because if it were not for my strong quartermaster navigational skills we'd be in freaking Sacramento to this day). It was a very nice memorial, and I'm glad we were able to go.
The film "Kick Ass," was shown at Movie Day Friday afternoon. A superhero wanna be movie, with the incredible 13 year old Chloë Grace Moretz as Hit Girl, and who will star as the vampire in the Americanized version of "Let the Right One In." Paul and Erin really liked the movie, giggling throughout. Erin liked it so much I gave her the DVD (oops, did I say that I supplied this movie that's still in theaters. I did!) as an early birthday present.
And finally, at the first Cooking Club session with Erin back from New Jersey, we made A&W copy cat chile dogs! Erin, quite wisely, put me in charge of the chile.
And here's the freaking recipe:

For one dog you need this (please multiply the recipe for as many dogs as you want. Go ahead, do it):

1 Sabrett brand beef frankfurter - 7.5 inches long (not 7 inches. Not 8 inches. 7.5 freaking inches!)
Hot dog bun - 1
White onions - 1 tablespoon (chopped)
Mild Kraft cheddar cheese - 1/2 tablespoon (shredded)
A&W Coney Island Sauce - 3 tablespoons

That is what I made. The Coney Island Sauce. Here's the recipe:

Ground chuck - 1 lb
Tomato paste - 1 Can (6oz)
Sugar - 1 tbsp
Yellow mustard - 1 tbsp
Dried, minced onion - 1 tbsp
Chili powder - 2 tsp
Worcestershire sauce - 1 tsp
Salt - 1 tsp
Celery seed - 1/2 tsp
Ground cumin - 1/2 tsp
Black pepper - 1/4 tsp
Water - 1 cup


Cook the ground chuck in a pan and break into small pieces. Season with salt and pepper. Add the remaining ingredients.
Simmer for about 30 minutes, until thickens
Boil some water in another pot and cook as many dogs as you want (providing you make enough sauce for them). Boil for about 8 to 10 minutes
Place the freaking dog on a bun and spread on 3 tablespoons of the sauce, then sprinkle with cheese (stick some ketchup on there to if you want. Go ahead, I dare you. Squeeze me!) , and eat the freaking thing!

My lovely residence manager Tianna liked the dogs so much she put me in charge of making them all over again for Memorial Day.
Hey wait a minute! I'll have to make them all by myself as Paul, Erin, and Tianna have the nerve to take freaking Memorial Day off!
Freak!

Salvation Diary 30

"Salvation" artist Amanda Milke
http://amandamilke.wordpress.com/

Mother's Day!
I talked to my mother on the telephone. I caught her as she was applying her lipstick in preparation for a trip to her best friend's house, Alice and Lester, for dinner.
She's doing alright. She always does alright. If her stupid kids would just leave her alone, quit being alcoholics, and quit bothering her with boyfriend problems (my sister, not me), her life would be a paradise.
She has not yet received the gift that I had mailed to her last Monday. The little glass piano. I certainly do want to make any disparaging or derogatory statements concerning our world famous postal system, so I will not make any comments concerning the fact that it has taken them almost a week to get one small light weight package all the way over to the very next state. I won't say anything at all.
My mother told me that my sister and her boyfriend have broken up. The same guy that showered Cheryl and Keri with presents last Christmas, and forced a tree upon my mother.
This news made me a little happy. If I can't find joy and happiness in a relationship right now, why should my sister be entitled to?
I'm very sick. I need to be here.
Besides, I never really liked the guy to begin with.
My beautiful little niece, Keri, keeps getting her name put on the classroom blackboard. This indicates that she is a perpetrator of some misdeed, or has broken one of the rules at school.
Isn't she a doll?
My own day began at 4:00AM, with watching "The Crawling Eye," with a subdued Forrest Tucker (before "F Troop"). This movie seemed so much better when I was a kid.
During chapel Major Johnson related some personal information, it being Mother's Day and all. I had not known that he had been born right here in Pasadena. He was a victim of polio in the thirties, in fact, the second recorded case in this area. Because of that dubious distinction his picture had appeared in the local newspaper, The Star News. The Major, at least in part, attributed his eventual recovery to all of the people who saw that picture and prayed for him. The disease affected his legs substantially, leaving his left leg atrophied. His mother, he said, helped him day after day, month after month, to exercise the useless muscles, until once again he could use the limb and walk unassisted. For that he was thankful to his mom.
Much like the Major I am thankful to my mother for not giving up on me.
After chapel Ron Collins and I walked to South Pasadena, to the American Legion building, for a 11:30 A.A speaker meeting. We found good old Skip Fennel there, my ex-desk pal. He's living with his parents now and attending P.C.C. He attended the speaker meeting regularly, he said.
It was a good meeting. Nice, fashionable people attended. Some pretty ladies. I may have fallen in love once, I'm not sure.
The speaker was a good one. The line I remember most went like this, "After tens years of living with an alcoholic, my wife had had her fill of joy and happiness and left me."
Ron and I walked back to the residence after the meeting. I went upstairs and made my bed. Reuben Perez had given me a nice set of yellow sheets to try, instead of my drab old white ones. They were a size too big for my bed. I put them on anyway.
I like yellow.
They help cheer up my lonely room.
I finished "The Milagro Beanfield War." Very, very good. I shall remember it for the rest of my life as the one book I took the time to really read during the first year of my recovery. It shall remind me of this place. This residence. This stinking, lousy, little, lonely room.
I watched "Star Trek, the Next Generation," and "Married with Children," and fucked off for the rest of the night.


May 13 Monday Day 244


Again I didn't want to get up, but I forced myself. I showered, dressed, and made my way downstairs in time to grab a bite of tuna fish sandwich before leaving for P.C.C. I had an English test to take.
As I left the residence I noticed my counselor, Richard, in his car preparing to drive away. He motioned me over and offered me a lift, which I gladly accepted. Because of my ride I arrived at the college early, about forty five minutes before the test was to begin. I waited around in front of the administration building, smoking cigarettes and watching the scenery.
As test time approached I wandered up to the second floor, to room C311, which was located, curiously enough, on the exact opposite side of the building from room C310. Gathered around the entrance to room C311 were about twenty other students, most in their early twenties. My fellow test takers.
As we filed into the large classroom I felt a determinedly odd sense of de'javu. It has been fifteen years, more or less, since I sat in a room such as this, at desks such as these, with a teacher standing up front explaining (in an authoritative voice) what we would be doing for this session. It felt very strange, yet very familiar.
The test itself was relatively simple. All multiple choice questions. I had been afraid that spelling would be involved, as I'm not particularly suited for that activity. Usually, if I am uncertain how a word is spelled, and no dictionary is nearby, or I don't have the time to look it up even if I do have a dictionary, I will attempt to spell it phonetically, they way the word sounds when spoken, which is usually the wrong way to spell it because English is crazy. Fortunately for me all I had to do was pick out misspelled words from sentences, something I seem to be much better at because of the way my poor old alcoholic brain dysfunctions.
The remainder of the test was also fairly simple and easy to understand. When finished I had a good feeling about attaining a satisfactory grade. I was told the test results would be available in an hour if I choose to wait around for them. I didn't really need them today, so instead I picked up a student aid application from the counseling office, then made my way back to the residence.
As I was getting my room key from the front desk, Reuben Smith asked me if I wanted to go to the movies with him. He wanted to see "FX2," a film that had opened over the weekend. Mainly because I had never been out socially with Reuben, I agreed.
"FX2" is the sequel to the film "FX," with the Australian actor, Brian Brown starring, with Brian Dennehy, which I had enjoyed. But this sequel, like most sequels, was a poor second best. Silly really. FX stands for special effects in movies I guess, and Mr. Brown played the expert in both films, using his magic in real life situations and getting into all kinds of nasty trouble. It seems to me that in the sequel it would have been a lot easier to get the job done without mucking around with all of those gadgets.
I imagine not using those gadgets would have negated the hoped for primary appeal of the film though.
Later in the evening I saw on the news "FX2" was number one at the box office for the weekend.
"Silence of the Lambs," is still in the top 5. Very surprising.
When Reuben and I returned I wrote in the lobby.
Barbara and Milda walked by and said hello.
So did Russell Burke.
When I finished writing, I ate a late spaghetti and Italian sausage dinner, then retired to my room and played with my computer. Perplexed, I began to read from the Bible. "Ezra." Some of J.D. Salinger's "Catcher in the Rye," and a lovely and haunting story by Clifford D. Simack, "The Wishing Well."
As I mentioned earlier, I watched the news, then "Nightline," afterwards with that Koppel person, then went to sleep wanting to get at least four hours in before I began my work week.
I dreamt of moths.


May 14 Tuesday Day 245


At 7:15 I made an announcement at morning devotions.
"All of this loud playing of radios in the bathrooms, early in the morning, gentlemen... there's just no future in it!"
I had had complaints from Harold Eversley of vapid, insistent, "Rap" music emanating from the restroom located on the other side of his bedroom wall. It kept waking him, he said.
For myself, I woke up in an elevator, or should I say, "lift," with Laurence Olivier and Vivian Leigh, headed to the top of the Eiffel Tower. It was quite splendid really.
Work went well. I managed to write a little in the morning, ran urine tests, the usual stuff. I spent most of the shift trying to figure out how to complete the student aid form I received the day before, and failing.
After work I went upstairs to my lonely room and slept until 5:15, after which I returned downstairs and hung around the lobby.
Jill made it in today, radiant as ever. I asked if she felt better, referring to her absence last week (just between you and me, I do not feel Jill was being 100% completely honest about being ill). "Jill," I told her, "it's like a week without sunshine when you don't come to visit us."
Sickening yes, but my delivery was good, and it worked. She gave me a beautiful smile, and her eyes lit up. "Thank you," she said.
Since I had missed dinner I went into the canteen and ate a nice cheeseburger with an egg on top, then went to my room and read until "The Terminator," came on T.V. at 8:00.
Dear reader, does it seem to you that I am in a rut? That I do the same boring things week after week? That my life has entered into a state of obsequiousness and humdrum?
It does to me.
I'M BORED! (relapse warning sign) with doing the same old stuff all of the time. Day after day. I WANT TO LIVE (relapse warning sign)!!! I want excitement (relapse warning sign)! I want to fly like a bird (relapse warning sign)!
I better settle down and be quiet.


May 15 Thursday Day 246


I worked my ass off today! I got no more ass!


May 16 Wednesday Day 247


I'm bored with the same old stuff week after week. I want to live! I want excitement! I want to go to Reno!
I guess I'm in a rut. I would not recommend to anyone in early recovery to work a sixty hour a week job that pays $19 and a canteen card (are canteen cards negotiable on the world market?), a supervisory position at that, so you get be ostracized from those who you live and work with (only a 100 or so people), to the point that conversation slows and dwindles when you pass by, and people act differently with you than others, and talk differently, and look differently. And it's your duty to scold and reprimand your fellow brothers when the occasion calls for it.
And you don't have the time, energy, or money for any kind of social life.
And certainly one of the most frustrating aspects of the whole affair, your bosses over in the front office hardly realize you exist, base your entire job performance on how many smudges are on the windows of the front door, and when your presence is considered to any degree, they'll shake your hand, tell ya what a great job your doing, and act as if your a moron.
Well, enough sniveling from me. Actually, the above sounds like a lot of jobs people in America have today. Except for the pay.
I guess I'm building strength of character, or something. Although I still would not suggest that most alcoholics in early recovery take on all of these trials and tribulations. Live in a cave maybe. I console myself by thinking things may change when Mr. Vasquez retires (if he retires). I think about going to school and all of the pretty girls there, and what a pleasure it is not to worry about bills, or paying rent for the time being. Our about taking out the garbage, or going grocery shopping, or having to cook, or meeting a cute and intelligent and sincere lady while shopping for groceries that I would eventually cook for the both of us over a nice romantic candle lit dinner for just us two, or marrying the girl, and having children, or a cat or two, or maybe a little puppy, or buying life insurance.
I'm starting again.
Well, one day at a time.
I worked my ass off again today. Got a positive urine test on a loud mouthed, bald headed, inconsiderate trouble maker that no one could get along with and who had been seen rolling joints (marijuana cigarettes) in his dorm.
So Robert and I gave him a collective boot!
And Stacy came in early to say goodbye. She will not be coming in to counsel anybody anymore. She plans to become a cocktail waitress maybe. I let her know that there was a lot of money in the cocktail waitress trade if she could stand the degradation.
I knew that cocktail waitresses could make a lot of money (and about the degradation) because my second wife, Debbie, used to work as a cocktail waitress, and usually brought home lots of money in tips. She had a little problem with polishing off all of her customers unfinished drinks and didn't last too long in that profession, which was fine with her. She didn't really like to work anyway.
Stacy brought goodbye cards to each of the clients she had counseled. That was nice of her. I discovered that she was just 21 years old.
A kid. A smart and nice kid.
I hope she doesn't become a cocktail waitress.


May 17 Friday Day 248


I went to bed last night at 2:00AM, and didn't get up until 11:00 this morning. I had some fish for lunch, then went back upstairs and took a little nap until 3:00.
I was recharging my batteries.
I had some nice liver for dinner, and after I got all of my chores caught up and the paperwork completed, I read about inhalants and solvents and glue-sniffing.


May 18 Saturday Day 249


Last night, while Bill Raushemplat changed the lobby bulletin board, my good friend and Zulu Brother, Reuben Smith returned from an outing. His would be the only breath test I would administer all evening.
Reuben was fortunate in that.
Or maybe not, I don't know. I'm not wise enough to tell.
He blew a .02, not a high reading by any means. Just high enough to get him thrown out of here.
I looked at the breath-a-lizer with disbelief. Not Reuben! No. No. Not Reuben. I asked him what he had been eating or drinking.
"Pizza and coke," he answered.
I immediately remembered that Reuben was a chronic liar. A truth avoidance expert. Whenever confronted with some misdeed of his own design (an almost constant occurrence) he will say anything and everything to avert blame or responsibility. He is capable of manufacturing the most outrageous confabulations at the drop of a hat. So it was useless to attempt to wrangle the truth from him at this time, and I did not attempt it.
I made a snap decision to ignore the reading. I looked at Bill to see if he had noticed any change in my demeanor. Apparently he hadn't. Reuben looked at me a little expectantly, or perhaps apprehensively. I quickly cleared the breath-a-lizer's air chamber so the reading would return to 0.00, all ready to use again.
I didn't say anything more to Reuben. He had been out all afternoon, so I paid him his gratuity and sent him on his way. Throughout this brief exchange Reuben acted strangely for Reuben. A bit pensive, and too polite. Just like he would act if he were guilty about something, knew he had been caught, but still didn't want to admit anything.
I don't know if he had been drinking, or not. It may have been a false reading.
Yeah, right. The breath-a-lizer is a pretty reliable machine. That's why we use it.
I'm not sure I did Reuben a favor by not pressing the issue and throwing him out. I don't know. Maybe it would have been better for him in the long run if I had. I just couldn't do it. Not this time.
If Bill had caught him Reuben would have been history. There would have been no way to save him. Bill likes to catch people.
Maybe I should have a little talk with Reuben. Soon, before it's too late.
Would it do any good?
If I catch him again I'll be forced to terminate him.
I happened to walk by the big T.V. while "America's Most Wanted," was on. They were dramatizing a story about a man in Switzerland who had drown his two small children in a bathtub. A little boy and a little girl. It was, although not graphic, quite horrible to watch. Knowing that it had actually happened made it horrible. This man, the T.V. said, may have escaped into the United States.
I wondered about the world we lived in for a moment and felt a little better about the job I've been given here.
The fire alarm woke me at 6:00AM, this morning. Something had set off the smoke alarm in dorm 33. Clarence Bliss's dorm. No fire.
I had breakfast, then went back to sleep. I got up around noon, skipped lunch (I need to lose some around the waist), and took a walk.
Remember when I said that the month of May had not been particularly pleasant for me historically. Well, I think my friend Dennis Smith has taken that curse away from me and transfered it to himself. Besides having that little A.W.O.L. episode earlier in the month, he gave me a call this afternoon at around 4:00PM, shortly after my shift began. It seemed the police in West L.A. had relieved him of his liberty after stopping him and running a warrant check. He was calling from jail.