the navel times and observer

Sam Alito: representing the unrepresented Italian-Americans from the Supreme Court. Assuming, that is, that he's Conservative enough to pass the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Just so long as he keeps piano wire out of the justice industry. Sleep well, Luca Brasi.

Honestly I bear no ill will nor stereotype toward Italian-Americans.

So, haven't written here in a while. Most of my writing's been in my personal paper journal, not near to the descriptive detail as I've written before, but then most of the messages here are repeating. To sum it up.

1) I need to figure this job out, I've been told that I've worked hard but just haven't gotten the number or quality of stories to make paying me full time worth their money.
2) I need to sleep more, exercise more and watch less television.
3) There ain't nobody my age and single in Lamar.

Whining? Well, yes. But then it's my journal, and the me, me, me direction is just where I tend to go in journals. You can write about yourself in yours.

So anyway I gave it my best. I went to church last Sunday and will go again tomorrow. I've now been to both bars in town (yeah, no surprises there whatsoever). My hopes went up when I saw a young bartender who I knew had to be 18 or older (or breaking ordinances somewhere). Sadly, hopes dashed. She was a man.

Just kidding. But no opportunity there.

The other bar is a tavern open from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. The owner, Frog, is cool, gave me a free Coke, but there ain't much happening before 6 p.m.

So, yeah. Beyond that I was in a Sonic tonight and when the waitress brought me food she said "I see you at my school all the time." This struck a brief note of fear because I'm 23 years old. Which is, I believe, old enough that I would definitely be a "creepy stalker guy" if I spent a lot of time outside High Schools.

I explained that I was a reporter and was grateful to hear that this waitress (to whom I'd spoken before) didn't have the prior assumption. I'm a bit too young to get that stalker label stuck to me in this town.

Yeah, sorry to whine like this, but I do have something light to add. On Wednesday (or Thursday, who knows?) I saw a group of high school students with a police officer, they were teaching safety lessons to elementary school students. The funny part was when one of them donned a sailor's shirt and hat next to the policeman. I had to ask. Where's the indian? Where's the construction worker?

On another note I have a scanner now in my room and 3 alarm clocks which I end up putting on snooze in sort of a staggered pattern for about an hour every morning, at least so far. The funny part is one of my alarm clocks talks to me, there's a cowboy, a Johnny Cochrane impersonator, a mafia boss impersonator and an indian accent on that machine and they all order you out of bed or just insult you out of a general habit.

So every morning I'm combining voices from two machines and trying to take notes in my half-awake state. I never really bothered to ask why the cowboy was heading to N. Pine to take care of the 1034. I just wrote (well, scribbled) it down.

I really appreciate my parents.

I mean they not only raised me to some state of adulthood, but they have been there to help me at absolutely every life obstacle I've had in front of me even after the state decided I could take care of myself.

They've co-signed lease arrangements, loaned money for moves and new jobs and, sometimes, completely financed me for unpaid jobs. They've forced me to calm down and explain my feelings when I didn't want to face them. They refuse to listen to me whine and they'll always hear me out when I'm ready to talk.

Lately my dad co-signed on my first car loan without, it seemed, even so much as a thought. I would have been without a car, and thus without a job if he hadn't.

Thanks.

R.I.P.
The Wondermobile (a.k.a. a 1995 green Nissan Altima XSE edition)
1995-Oct. 12, 2005

Goodnight, sweet automobile, you were far better to me than I ever was to you in return.

I just did every dish in the house. Most of them had not seen soap in weeks. I only wish I were kidding.

Hm, I'm not sure how to start this, lots has happened I guess. But I'm really now sure if it's rehashing all of it here. My life is fairly open, I don't have many thoughts I don't express to someone or another. If that was you, thanks, and I hope you'll still talk to me after hearing that rant.

So three (or some) weeks ago I was driving on a county road south of town and the right front wheel slipped a little off the edge of the road. Because the road slipped off into a 2-foot ditch (shoulder? ha!) my car just got sucked down in and after a lot of very frightening bumping around I had about six feet of the electric fence on the other side of the ditch stuck in and around my poor automobile. It's now got a mean tattoo of criss-crossing white scratches from the endeavor.

The guy whose fence I chewed up owns one of the oldest and most frequented restaurants in the area, the Blue Top Restaurant. I just knew at the time that I was going to do a real big piece for the newspaper and a lot of it was going to center around this man whose fence I just beat up. I mean karma, or a sixth sense, whatever. I knew something big was going to happen involving this guy.

Early this morning there was a fire at the Blue Top Restaurant because of an electrical malfunction with the dryer. I saw it, or something just as significant, coming three weeks in advance. I'm just that good. There are lots of times when I'm not sure whether this is what I'm meant to do. I mean, after all, I'm not amazing at this job. I'm slower than I should be and I still need to ask better questions. I've had some lucky breaks, but over all, I just don't know. I get by through the people who support me and frequently have a higher opinion of me than I do myself. God I hope they don't lose that idealism.

It's still fun to hear some of these stories, to be on the front line in many cases. To afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted. To boldly walk up to someone's door and asking if they'd be so kind to be quoted in the newspaper. Or to call someone and definitely not expect them to call me back, but call them anyway, what the heck?

To tell the rest of the story, the Blue Top wasn't completely destroyed. The man with the fence told me it will be rebuilt within the next four or five months. He's got to figure it out, he told me, but he had unbelievable loyalty with his customers. I can't imagine him being in trouble in five months.

For me I've still got to figure out how to do this job. I've already had to tell myself I can do the job, if I can't at least state that I've lost the game. Like so many things I live on the hope that surely it has to work out. So it goes.