Mayhem Achieved, Boredom Relieved (Remix)
The Much Delayed, Long Awaited, Hotly Anticipated and Totally Worth It
DL4
2008 Homecoming Issue
and Back-To-School Rant-a-Thon
WARNING: Adult Language & Content. Not Suitable For Younger Readers.
POWERED BY NEWPORTS - THE GIFT OF TIME, PART II
"THE TiDE iS HiGH AND i'M HOLDiNG ON"
Originally Appeared in DATELINE 4:20 ON MYSPACE, September 24th, 2008
Get The Step In Department -- I am sitting on the beach right now. It's a beautiful day. The last day of Calendar Summer.
I am grateful to God for making the last Beach Sunday of Summer 2008 such a gorgeous day - but I missed most of it because I was sleeping. [EDITOR'S NOTE: I HAD GONE TO SLEEP AFTER WORKING 13 1/2 HOURS THE NIGHT BEFORE.] My shirt is off, my little feets are in the water and it is 77 degrees at 4:30 PM. [EDITOR'S NOTE: NOTICE HOW I TOTALLY DON'T BOTHER BACKDATING IT TO 4:20 ANYMORE?!! LOL] I am very disappointed with myself for sleeping through today. In my view it's irrelevant why I slept - I did wake up at 11:30 AM and went back to sleep when I could have been here. Sure, there have been other Beach Days, and of course there may still be more yet to come - I don't know. But that's exactly it - we don't know. There may NOT be any more. This could have been my last chance, for all I know, not just for '08 but also...well...let's just say that if tomorrow isn't promised then next year is for damn sure not promised. Do I have many, many lovely, wonderful memories of the Summer of 2008? You bet your ass I do. But today could have been one of them - and although it may yet still be, I could have done better, and for that I cannot forgive myself. [EDITOR'S NOTE: AS IT TURNED OUT, I TOOK ALMOST 75 PICTURES IN ABOUT 2 1/2 HOURS - MORE PICS THAN THE LAST THREE FULL-LENGTH BEACH DAYS COMBINED. NOT ONLY THAT, BUT DUE TO THE TIMING OF ALL EVENTS OF THIS DAY, I SAVED THE LIFE OF A CHICKEN - YES, FOLKS, A CHICKEN - WHO WAS - I SHIT YOU NOT - CROSSING THE ROAD. IN FACT I DELIBERATELY PUT MYSELF IN HARM'S WAY IN ORDER TO PROTECT THIS CHICKEN UNTIL HELP ARRIVED - WHICH IT DID - AND THIS WOULDN'T HAVE WORKED OUT THIS WAY HAD THE TIMING OF ALL EVENTS BEEN ANYTHING OTHER THAN WHAT IT WAS.]
I can smell the ocean. A guy in the canoe just rode by me. The tide is high and rising, and apparently now I'm sitting in it. I love seaweed. There isn't necessarily a "next summer" and there is no rewind button on today. I cannot forgive myself for missing this - even as I am grateful to have made it here at all. A dog ran up to me as I parked my car - in my usual spot. [EDITOR'S NOTE: HE ACTUALLY RAN UP AFTER THE CAR WAS PARKED AND MY FAT ASS HAD GOTTEN OUT OF THE VEHICLE.] He gave me doggy love. Why am I not swimming? Why the fuck did I stay in bed today? [EDITOR'S NOTE: SEE ABOVE.]
Fear of the unknown? Yes - you bet. Why?
Because right now I have the freedom and the wherewithal to get here and be here whenever I want to. I live right up the road, 8 miles/20 minutes away. [EDITOR'S NOTE: AND THAT'S BECAUSE I TAKE THE MORE PEACEFUL, SAFER "SCENIC" ROUTE RATHER THAN BE BOTHERED WITH THE MAIN ROADS AND THE MORONS WHO OCCUPY THEM.] Next summer? Next year I mean? We don't know. My job? Next year? We don't know. Money? We don't know. I don't know anything. Trust God. Yes. But. As we've seen from my seeming inability to recognize that 11:30 AM - when God woke me - means Get the fuck out of bed and go play outside, I can't trust myself. I don't know how to make my peace with that. I really don't. Even if God does forgive me. Maybe I'm being too hard on myself. But this is what's important to me, and I literally slept on it.
This is supposed to be my Fourth Step. That's why I'm sitting here writing. But it turned into THIS. Here in my head I'm thinking even if there is another 80 degree Sunday - or ANY day - in '08, there will still be only one Last Day of Summer. That's what I can't get past. And for some reason it matters - even the people here who I don't know are here for the last Beach Sunday of the Summer. The technical, official Summer, not that phony Labor Day Weekend "Last Day" when people run around like "it's over" when it's really not. I mean hell, I was here and swimming just this past Monday. Six days ago. I want to go swimming. I could, ya know. All I gotta do is runquick back to the car and change.
Then again there are some REALLY cool triangular waves right now. [EDITOR'S NOTE: I HAVE PICTURES. IN FACT - HERE'S SEVERAL.]
EDITOR'S NOTE (2): DUE TO SPACE RESTRICTIONS NOT ALL THE PICTURES ARE INCLUDED IN THIS VERSION OF THE POST. TO VIEW THE PICTURES PLEASE ENTER THIS URL INTO YOUR BROWSER:
http://blog.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendID=206124815&blogID=435613444
YOU MAY ALSO VISIT THE ENTIRE POWERED BY NEWPORTS PHOTO ALBUM AT:
http://viewmorepics.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewPicture&friendID=206124815&albumId=1425283
I wonder - and worry - if this might wind up becoming something I spend the rest of my life trying to reclaim. I've been mindful of this. All Summer I've been mindful of this. I've tried to make the absolute most of the gift I have been given - the gift of Summer. [EDITOR'S NOTE: I'VE ALSO TAKEN TO REFERRING TO 2008 AS THE "BEST SUMMER EVER," NOT BECAUSE IT SOUNDS PRETTY BUT ONLY BECAUSE I REALLY FEEL THIS WAY. NOTE THAT THE CLASSIFICATION OF "BEST" ALSO APPLIES BY DEFAULT TO ANY SUMMER SPENT AT CAMP, WHICH IS ANOTHER STORY ENTIRELY. TECHNICALLY THIS WOULD BE THE "BEST SUMMER NOT SPENT AT CAMP" BUT THAT TAKES TOO LONG TO SAY.]
All things being what they are, and my faith in a Higher Power being firmly set, I have no choice really. I have no choice but to trust that this is not lost. Will not be lost. I have been granted the privilege of incontrovertible evidence [EDITOR'S NOTE: IN SPADES] that whatever the Higher Power is in substance, the fact of Its existence is concrete. I have been provided the luxury of proof, conclusive signs, indications, factual and otherwise inexplicable phenomena demonstrating conclusively and beyond all possible doubt that whoever or whatever He, She, It or They might be, They definitely exist and are paying attention. It is I who fell short today. Who do you think woke my ass up at 11:30, versus whose idea was it to stay in bed. That's not the proof I'm talking about, it's just how the day went. And even still, whatever I may THINK I've missed, I still had things happen, like who I bumped into and when, that suggest all may still not be lost after all. I have to have faith, because really, there is no other option.
LANDSCAPER MURDERS TREE
YOU SHOULDA CALLED A CAB, ESSE!
Tequila Surprise Department -- Earlier this summer, an alleged immigrant allegedly stole a Lincoln Navigator after a Saturday night of alleged drinking and allegedly crashed it into a tree on Depot Road in Huntington. The truck apparently rolled over driver's side to roof to passenger side, and the pudgy capitano climbed out of the driver's side window, unharmed except for a few cuts and bruises and some alleged disorientation. Lacking paperwork of any sort, and in the absence of even the most rudimentary command of English, the alleged miscreant was carted off to the hospital. It is worth noting that one of the first cars to pass the scene was a nurse on her way to work, who stopped to help and who called the police. Our cameras captured some of the carnage, presented below for your educational edification.
she hate me
AN OPEN LETTER TO A GIRL I USED TO KNOW
(EDITED FOR LENGTH AND CLARITY)
Digging A Grave Mistake Department -- This document is based on a true story. Names and places may have been altered for the sake of discretion. This document is being composed in part on a mobile device, behind the wheel and/or while at the author's workplace. Advance apologies are offered by the author for any grammatical or other inconsistencies, whether real or perceived.
Dear *****,
I'm writing this today because I never had a chance to see you one last time, and I've carried that with me for nearly a decade and a half. I don't know if closure is possible, and if it is I have no idea whether this is it. Perhaps I wouldn't know closure if it whacked me with a big wooden sign that said "Hello, My Name Is Closure." The last thing I remember from our time at camp together is that we had to meet up and square some things away, and that they wouldn't let us...wouldn't let ME. For all this time, I've been waiting, and wondering, and just kind of held on to that urgency, that sense of needing to get a message to you. Even as life carried on, as I lived and loved and lost, and went on living, I never forgot about that feeling, that message, that urgency. I never forgot about YOU. Now that I actually have the chance to do this, the bloody thing's long past its expiration date. In any case I think I've forgotten the damned punchline. This shit ain't no joke, however; it's been fuckin' me up for years. You might never even read this, but I've got to get this sorted before any more time goes by. All I ask is that if you do read this, please read the whole thing.
I ought to to start off by saying I'm not under the delusion that it's possible to pick up where we left off. Just gotta get that out of the way right off the bat. I believe in reality. I know the intervening years have taken us in separate directions. I'm not ignorant of your accomplishments, and I can see that you've worked very hard to get to where you are today. I did my homework. You've done pretty well for yourself. I respect the hell out of that.
I just figured I'd throw that out there. If I were on the receiving end of a letter like this, that would probably be the first thought into my mind, that the person writing it was under the impression we were still sixteen. Yeah, this ain't that.
All I'm trying to say is that I've been kicking myself for years because of something that I fucked up because I didn't know any better. I'm not looking for a second chance. That ship sailed a long, long time ago. I get that. It's cool. I'm not here to disrupt things in the present day, nor am I looking to rewrite history.
I am genuinely grateful to have the chance to write these things tonight knowing that you will actually have the opportunity to read them, or even to choose not to if you prefer. It's the gratitude of knowing that you're there, somewhere, to be able to make that decision. Words don't do it proper justice.
When I first got online a few years ago, I tried looking you up, to no avail. After a while I had to give up, until I was able to connect a few dots late this year, and here we are. Nice detective work, indeed. How ya doin.
I freely admit that for a long time I carried the admittedly unrealistic hope that someday I'd run into you and we might be able to sort things out, maybe even spend some time together. Tell the truth, I'm not really sure WHAT I was hoping for. I think I just wanted to see you again, and I guess I figured we'd take it from there. You see, the last thing I know is that I had to talk to you at camp one more time and I never had the chance to. With every passing year, I realized that getting back in contact was increasingly less likely, and at some point it finally dawned on me that if I found you at all after this length of time, you might not remember any of this (or care), wouldn't be single (or interested), or maybe even have passed away.
At that time, the realization struck me like a ton of bricks. It just hadn't occurred to me. It was so obvious, yet it came as a total shock. Since then, however, I've had the chance to come to terms with it, long before I ever met up with you again on ********.
I think if I was going to regret anything, it's that we didn't even have a chance to really get to know each other before it was all snatched away from us. I've been kicking myself all this time for the way I handled things, always knowing that my own misdeeds were the reason for all the trouble that popped off. To be sure, I now believe that everything happens for a reason. I'll be getting into that in a little bit. Generally speaking, regret isn't in my vocabulary. But for chrissake I never even got your phone number or mailing address. God, I was such a DOUCHE! They never let us have the chance to get acquainted, so if we did "leave off" anywhere, I'd have to say it was at the how-do-you-do stage. That's the only reasonable place to pick up any of it.
Every time I have a Marlboro Light or 100, I think about camp. Stashing my butts under the cabin, or hiding behind the chicken coop sharing a Marlboro Light with my friend B**** C**** and finishing it in under two minutes. I've never been pleased with the way I handled myself back then, not only with regard to how I related to girls, but also because I was so openly rebellious. OPENLY rebellious. Sure, I can chalk it up to general inexperience. At the time, I had only just started smoking cigarettes - which, may I add, are part of the reason for my sudden disappearance from camp in the first place - and had not yet been turned on to drugs. This whole sequence of events began and ended during the summer immediately preceding my first "real" relationship with a girl. So apparently I'm doing damage control for the ineptitude of a little kid. Nothing more than a star-struck child, and this is the mental Monday-morning quarterbacking of that child several Presidents later. [EDITOR'S NOTE: it's actually Monday morning right now, lol]
I guess what I'm trying to say is that for some reason, for reasons that I may not ever even understand, what happened back then changed my life. I don't know why, but it did. I'm sure I couldn't say why. If my life depended on it I couldn't possibly explain. Nevertheless, I have always felt that if somehow it were possible to go back in time and change just one thing, I know what that would have been. What the one thing is in all my life I would have changed. What I should have done differently, would have done differently had I but known better. But of course, back then I had my head up my ass.
I remember staying awake by doing hundreds of push-ups on the porch of the cabin. I remember getting all done up in black to avoid detection by the counselors out on Patrol. There were four of us, I believe, who went over that night. I know we had mapped out the best route for us to cross over from W******* to E****** and where each cabin was situated. I still can recall the shock of seeing someone moving around at the front of the cabin as I knelt in the shadows by the half-opened back door. Even now, I can remember how it felt. I can almost smell the wood and hear the slow, incriminating creak of the door spring. I hid under your cabin for over half an hour that night, waiting for whoever it was that I saw in there to bounce. Under the cabin, with my head resting on some nasty-ass pillow that just happened to be right there. Under the damn cabin, waiting for the counselor to go back to sleep. Had I but known who was in there at the time and what they were doing, maybe that block of time in that twelve-inch crawlspace would have been shorter, or eliminated entirely. I'd have just gone right in. You see, I know now who was awake in there and why. But of course, it's easy with the bifocals of hindsight to say that I should have gone inside anyway. My God. When I think about what went on instead that night it turns my stomach. Who I went to go see, and the price I paid, and I don't mean just the short term inconvenience of falling asleep in my breakfast plate with the aroma of horse manure still fresh in my nostrils.
And for what? So that I could get caught - and wind up shoveling horse shit until the breakfast bugle blew - trying to convince that juvenile, self-absorbed [Expletive Deleted] to sneak out with me instead. Thankless fucking person she turned out to be. It wasn't worth it, and back then I never even saw it coming.
This shit's haunted me for almost fifteen years. I know this is the course we were set to follow because all things are as God intends. I believe this, and I wouldn't change a minute of it. I wouldn't be where I am today if it wasn't for what happened in days gone by. What I'm on about is, I don't even know if that's a good thing or not. I suppose it is, if we are to assume the truth of the "God's Will" theory (see below), and I do assume that truth. As I've said elsewhere, I've seen it proven. Moving forward from here, I can't say. The future is an unwritten page in a book with no set end.
We had almost been able to sort it all out on that Sunday at the religious services, except that thanks to the counselors keeping me practically under lock and key I hardly had an opportunity to speak to you. I'm remembering as I write this that we were supposed to rendezvous on Visitor Sunday but that they wouldn't even let me out of the goddam cabin. As it turned out that was my last Sunday at camp. Ever.
What can I say? I didn't know any better at the time. I almost never talk about this, but I've thought about it almost every day. The time has come where I have to get this off my chest, and really, at the end of the day that's all I can do. The fact that I finally CAN is why I'm doing it. I believe in living as if each day were your last, and I'll be damned if I'm taking this to my grave.
I've been saying there was only ever one thing about all of this I'd have changed if I could. You asked me a question at the co-ed that night, and I gave the wrong answer. It's as plain and as simple as that. If I had simply had the presence of mind to pursue what was right in front of me instead of letting my free will get shanghaied by that opportunistic gold digger, for all I know all of this might have worked out quite differently. For good or for ill, it would definitely have been different. I've heard it said that sometimes not knowing is worse, and that's more or less what's been haunting me all this time. I didn't make an informed decision, but rather an impulsive one. Possibly one of the most brainless decisions I've ever made. I gotta be real, though. I've never been able to understand why this one moment of indecision, or of poor decision-making, or whatever it was, has had such deep-seated and far-reaching impact. I know that it did, beyond question, but I'm not entirely sure why. I have to be upfront about that.
While I may not have recognized it at the time, I had every opportunity in the world to do something about it back then. Hell, I had it handed to me on a fucking silver plate. That night, at that co-ed, I messed it up. Yes I did. It's like that old song, it's nobody's fault but mine. I own that. I own up to it. I've never shied away from my responsibility for that.
I realize, recognize and respect that everything that happens, happens for a reason. Everything, whether it was something we liked at the time or not, has all been according to the plan of the Being I choose to refer to as God. I like that word, "God." It's easy to spell and everybody gets it. Whoever or whatever you believe God to be is your business. My point is that everything happens according to God's plan. Way leads ever on to way, like the hobbit said. One thing leads naturally into the next. I get that. It's the way of the world, fluid rhythm and natural balance.
Camp was the only place I ever truly felt alive. I wonder if it's possible that God did the both of us a favor by causing us to part company. I think maybe He did, because if I know myself, I'm sure I would have found a way to fuck things up anyway. The way it all turned out, at least we can remember those days and the circumstances surrounding them with that sunlit, golden glow that camp memories properly deserve.
I don't even know whether apologies are in order, but I'd rather offer an apology that may not be called for than owe one I haven't tendered. Let's put all the cards on the table. I think what I did back then may have hurt you, even if only for a little while, and one way or another that's absolutely my fault. Whether I knew better or I didn't, I'm sorry. I really am.
I think maybe I owe myself an apology as well, not just for falling prey to my own ignorance and ineptitude but also for beating myself up over it. Honestly, I'm not really sure. Then again, if everything happens for a reason, then even my inexperience and resulting inaction, or failure to act on my heart's true intent [EDITOR'S NOTE: OR FAILURE TO DISLODGE MY HEAD FROM MY TUCKUS], can been seen in the light of retrospect as an opportunity in itself, and the basis for any real growth that may have taken place since then.
It's just that I never had a chance to say goodbye.
JACK DECLARES BANKRUPTCY,
SELLS BEANSTALK
Unreal Estates Department -- We are outraged. It seems the once-hallowed right to provide shelter for oneself and one's family has gone out the window in the relentless pursuit of riches currently dragging this country through the tar pits.
It's an insult to the working class people of this town that amoral banks (banks aren't even banks anymore, having adopted the pretentious euphemism "financial centers" instead) and greedy scumbag quote unquote developers see fit to keep erecting large, ugly houses, blocks and blocks of em at a time. They're doing it during an economic recession, when many people are out of work or scared of losing their jobs, and they're doing it at the expense of regular, ordinary and affordable houses which are being torn down by the boatload. Moreover, these giant so-called homes are big enough to subdivide into affordable residences for the working-class families that are the heart and soul of the community, yet in practical application it seems the only houses being subdivided are the smaller ones which are really better suited to being put to use as single-family dwellings. The streets they're constructing don't even serve any social purpose since none of them actually go anywhere, because heaven forbid there should be any actual traffic on the street. Apparently it would inconvenience the nouveau riche by reminding them that there are still people besides them in the world. They can't be bothered to open up both ends of the block because it might actually help some of the more pedestrian motorists, pardon the pun, to get somewhere without having to sit in traffic or risk their safety on busy main roads. You'll note they hide behind their children under the guise of safety, except that defense doesn't really hold water since there have been children living on through streets since the fucking things were invented.
I can't even begin to tell you how angry it makes me that in the middle of a recession these greedy, evil douchebags see fit to bulldoze precious acres of natural wilderness to make room for yet another one of their gated "communities," isolationist neighborhoods with the unmitigated gall to post an $8-an-hour security guard at the only point of entry to decide who is and is not fit to enter these areas. Strictly speaking, these are nothing more than the high-tax-bracket version of ghettos and housing projects. You don't have to take my word for it:
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/ghetto
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/housing%20project
The problem, for the most part, is that there seems to be a widespread epidemic of "new home construction" and that many of these larger houses are going up at the expense of more affordable, reasonably-sized homes that are perfectly habitable at the time of their demolition. This is taking place at a time when working people are taking pay cuts, losing customers and in some cases losing their jobs altogether, and the economy as a whole is pretty much in the toilet. I see this as an insult to working people everywhere. If you're not insulted, perhaps you don't work for a living, or if you do then obviously you aren't working hard enough.
Not to mention the fact that every single last one of these fucking ugly, oversized abominations seems to be built (and hastily, I might add - since when does it take less than a month to erect an entire block of houses? *cough* cutting corners *cough*) from exactly the same set of blueprints, which appear to have been designed by a mildly retarded seventh grader for extra credit in some CADD class in an underfunded school district in the hood somewhere. In many cases, these thoughtless, arrogant assholes build their gargantuan eyesores directly in some other homeowner's line of sight to an otherwise breathtaking view. An example of this can be seen down on West Shore Road, just north of town, where several homes with waterfront views now have nothing to look at but crackhouse-vintage vinyl siding. In other cases, there are properties with abundant foliage on the property, giving the home a cabin-in-the-woods feel, and the house itself will frequently reflect this theme in the decoration and trim. The entire point of these layouts is to have that "rustic" look and feel, even while providing all modern amenities. Many such homesteads have grown to become local landmarks in the neighborhood, adding charm and a certain quaint appeal to the experience of home ownership on Long Island. Some of these greedy-scumbag developers and maverick do-it-yourselfers buy up those properties and proceed to cut down all the trees and completely reface the houses, as well as doubling and tripling the size of the structure with needless additions, fake turrets, and so forth. The end result is yet another bland, homogenized and totally charmless property with the market value of a mud hut.
In short, there are dozens of these newly constructed abominations sitting unsold and unoccupied as the economy continues to head south, where previous existing structures on the property might have been snapped up by law-abiding taxpayers who could have become contributors to the community but are now forced to relocate to more affordable climes, like Pennsylvania, m'Assachusetts, and similarly uninhabitable locales boasting of second-rate, mediocre has-been sports teams. What kind of fate is that to foist upon Johnny Wage Earner? An unconscionable demoralization, that's what.
It is also my opinion that whoever keeps green-lighting these abominations has it in their pretty little heads that they're going to somehow organize, arrange, control or engineer the population so that the affected areas are occupied only by people in certain tax brackets. I have long suspected there are back-room arrangements in place between the banks and lenders and the builders to force hardworking people off their family's land so that more expensive dwellings can be constructed, resulting in increased revenue for crooked town governments. When they fail to tempt homeowners with big dollar signs, developers go behind their backs to conspire with the banks and the town governments to artificially raise rents, mortgage payments and tax rates until they've priced people out of their own homes. Some selfish, shortsighted people do cave in at the lure of big money, only to see their beloved family homestead demolished to make way for several houses many times the size and many times the market value. You will note that some homeowners in these areas have no problem with the so-called "mansionization" of their neighborhoods (a term which itself is becoming more and more of a misnomer, as this isn't neighborly behavior) because in their avaricious self-absorption they've convinced themselves it raises their own property values, which suggests they have no interest in staying put for very long. There goes your sense of community. Of course, it also causes an increase in their property TAXES, but because many of these homeowners are of the moneyed 5% that signs the paychecks for the rest of us, they usually don't mind since they're in cahoots with the banks (and the aforementioned corrupt town governments) their ownselves. Likewise they have little regard for the struggling, working-class families down the block whose taxes have also gone up as a result of all this.
Bear in mind this is only a theory and I have no concrete evidence, but if you simply open your eyes to the world around you, it becomes unmistakably clear that if this isn't what's going on, then something like it most certainly is.
In any case the worst part about all this is the way there seems no end in sight. People are convinced that no matter what they have, it isn't good enough. We're losing many historic older homes to this blight, homes which were built in an era of quality materials, dedicated labor and true craftsmanship, all of which are becoming a lost art these days as many builders trim costs by skimping on materials and workmanship. Gone are the days of rounded corners (for your safety) and doors that slide into the wall (for your convenience). Gone too are the sprawling yards where children can run and play and pets can frolic among the wildlife. Today's ultra-manicured, landscaped equivalent is nothing compared to the garden walls and built-in hillside staircases of the golden age of housebuilding, a time in American history when banks and housebuilders would actually go out of their way to make sure that anybody who wanted one could afford to buy their family a nice house and still enjoy amenities like an outdoor kitchen for barbecuing. As the stock market declines, and people lose their jobs left and right, more and more "coming soon" signs sprout up around the countryside, adding further insult to injury by giving these ghettos-to-be uppity, condescending names like "the pines at" or "the polo grounds at" or "the colonial villages of" when in fact these are nothing more than mass-produced, cookie-cutter eyesores for insecure people to show off like a stucco badge of honor. Land is no longer a place to play and explore, it's been reduced to a commodity to be groomed and shown off as if to demonstrate the deedholder's worth as a person. I happen to know of at least one of these tumor-hoods build on land once designated a Federally protected wildlife preserve, complete with signage and fencing. Today, this "protected habitat" is nothing more than a bland, unremarkable, and remarkably overpriced "habitat" for overpaid second-string football players and Florida-hating retirees.
I have to admit it brings me no small measure of satisfaction (and amusement) every time I read about one of these self-appointed "Earth Liberation Front" operatives, acting independently, torching a construction site. However, i do not advocate violence, and it would be socially irresponsible for this publication to encourage vandalism. What we believe in here at DL4 is the value of information. We believe that part of the solution to this problem is to help educate people, to show them how wanton construction is causing the demise of true neighborhoods and the once-lustrous sense of community our parents and grandparents used to enjoy. People need to realize the difference between a house and a home. They need to become convinced again that land is more than just a commodity. Time was, people took pride in their yard. Now, they just hire some illegals to make it look pretty so their neighbors (aka the strangers next door) will become jealous. Its all about me, me, me these days. We need to show people that when we make it all about we, we, we, everybody wins. We lead by example.
We also feel that one way to subvert these attempts at population arrangement is to have Johnny Time Card buying up all the houses. More to the point, cooperating groups of Johnny Time Cards. Get enough wage earners to pool their money and we will see home ownership by the very people the banks, corrupt town governments, and greedy scumbag developers are trying to force out of here. And because chances are at least one or two of these people will be handy with tools, it will then be possible to subdivide these houses into reasonably-sized, affordable living units the way they should have been in the first place.
Needless to say, the guard booths will have to go. I'd say turn em into a Fotomat, but in the digital age Fotomat booths are pretty much obsolete. Maybe truck in a freezer and sell ice cream out of there.
We could also try to beat them at their own game by demanding a price for our homes commensurate with whatever the greedy scumbag developers think they're going to make as a profit from their bloated overbuilding. What they do now is offer, let's say, $600K for a house with a market value of $500K, then spend maybe $100-200K building four or five $1M homes (which, as previously noted, don't sell). You think you're making a hundred grand profit, yet the greedy scumbag developers are making a FOUR MILLION DOLLAR PROFIT (hypothetically speaking, of course). We propose that homeowners demand upwards of $1M or more for their $500K house, since we already know the builders expect to make at least three times that amount, if not more. Hell, why not demand two mil. Obviously these douchebags can afford it, since they expect to have this kind of capital just rolling in from all the contemptible giganto-houses with which they're propagating our countryside. If he's going to make a few million off of your property, why shouldn't YOU make a few million off of your property? If he wants it badly enough, he'll pay. (Except, as we've previously discussed - disgust? - if he really wants it badly enough he'll probably just go to your lender behind your back and have you fucked out of your own property for pennies on the dollar. Be vigilant, people.) We just hope you realize that these people maximize their return on investment by using cheap, off-the-books non-union labor, bargain-basement building materials, and cookie-cutter blueprints, as well as cutting every possible corner in order to minimize the hourly pay rate outlay. Sell the land for what they think they're gonna make on the sale of the house they haven't built yet.
I'm thinking it might be a good idea to include things like size caps in local construction regulations, so the greedy scumbag developers can't continue to drive people out of the area with their outrageously overpriced giganto fake mansion houses, and to place no-build clauses into land deeds, to prevent them from burning down your house in order to replace it with one of their own. Not that we really expect these people to abide by the laws like the rest of us, but it'd be nice to have some safety measures in place, in print, just in case. These would be legally enforceable in court, and would help to minimize the risk of somebody forcing you out of your home with ambitions of constructing a condominium megaplex.
Some of the moneyed elite have had the nerve to say that if we don't like it, we can just work harder and make more money. Well, down here in reality, we believe people are already working plenty hard and receiving far too little money for their trouble and their valuable time. We all know how quickly the money flies right out of our pockets again at the slightest drop of a hat. Surely you don't think this is coincidence? Things are structured this way on purpose to keep us poor, and to practically force people to throw away their entire lives at some thankless job they get next to nothing out of. Life is about so much more than just wasting time making other people rich. It's about exploring your world, learning about new things and enjoying life. Life is not about misery and suffering. It's about helping one another so that collectively we can grow and evolve as a species. You don't really think THIS is all there is, do you? This isn't the final stop on the evolutionary ladder. We've just hit a long plateau because some well-meaning tool bag had to go and invent money. We can begin to move forward again, but it's going to take all of us to do it. Remember that if each of us takes an approach of watching out for and helping his fellow man (or woman, if it do ya) then it logically follows that there will be people watching out for and helping you as well. When it's "every man for himself" each of us is in it alone.
Remember, please, this article is intended only to spark discussion and debate among civic-minded people and is not presented as a complete breakdown of the big picture, nor do we presume to offer a one-size-fits-all solution to the problem. This is an opinion piece and is not presented as fact. We just want to get people talking, because many heads are often better than one. Maybe you guys can come up with some solutions of your own. If we can get people thinking, if not talking, then we're doing our job. This troubling phenomenon has gone unchecked for long enough.
Information is free, and knowledge is power. If we can help to spread these simple principles of sharing and giving, helping and nurturing, then there is hope for our society.
Okay, so maybe objectivity went out the window on this one. Blow me.
RANDOM PSA TO OUR READERS IN THE HUNTINGTON AREA: DON'T BUY YOUR GAS FROM STATIONS IN OR NEAR THE VILLAGE! THEY OVERCHARGE BY AN AVERAGE OF 25 CENTS PER GALLON OR MORE! YOU CAN BUY QUALITY GAS FOR MUCH CHEAPER IF YOU FILL UP ALONG JERICHO TURNPIKE, ESPECIALLY IF YOU GO EAST TOWARDS GREENLAWN AND COMMACK. THERE IS NO GOOD REASON TO SUPPORT THE PRICE GOUGING THAT GOES ON AT STATIONS IN TOWN. YOU HAVE OPTIONS!
Unsolicited submissions welcome.
contact DL4 c/o livejournal using the links at the top of the page.
portions of this issue composed in the field
on Motorola Q-700 t-mobile sidekick slide.
portions of this issue formatted and finalized
using openoffice-dot-org open source software.
get yours for free at http://www.openoffice.org
no gimmicks, no catch, no viruses, NO SHIT!
remix and additional post-production courtesy of
microsoft windows live writer
get yours for free at
http://get.live.com/writer/overview
IF YOU'VE BEEN DRINKING OR USING DRUGS DO NOT GET BEHIND THE WHEEL.
PEOPLE WILL DIE IF YOU DO.
TRUST US - DON'T FIND THIS OUT THE HARD WAY.
http://www.newsday.com/news/local/ny-lidead1108,0,6813228.story
http://www.newsday.com/news/local/ny-liaman1109,0,4252739.story
this issue dedicated to the memory of Amanda Malloy 1979-2008 rest in peace