Before I was here

 

April 24, 2006, 7:03 PM - Somewhere over the Southwestern United States desert:

 

Things change. I'm in a plane. I have a job. Travelling to Phoenix - to the desert - once again, to mother intel; into her pillowy bosom. I made it home to Portland without the struts on the Element falling off or breaking. it was snowing in the Malibu / Santa Monica mountains as I crossed through. My dry skin exploded with the temperature change (guess I can't blame everything on the ex... now ambiguously referred to herein out as "the voided and / or nullified"). Like most jobs I've landed, it only takes a week or two at the outside. I guess my "skill set" is in a micro niche of high tech construction contract & cartography control and subsequent manipulation. The company I left (herein referred to as "the company" - a necessary evil), actually offered me a job without my prompting. I simply called at the beginning of the languid job search for a letter of recommendation, as "the company" offered before the start of my trip. I can't believe that I'm actually gainfully employed and travelling to Phoenix for the next three months or so to administer this CUB (Central Utility Building) project they're building.

 

I'm wearing shoes, pants, and underwear. Even bought a couple pairs of freshies. Some new socks. Little things. The plan? Develop the property. Build the quadplex. Become part of American fabric once again.

 

April August 25, 2006, 3:07 PM - Somewhere over the Southwestern United States desert:

 

I'm on a plane. I've been playing the workingman's dirge for the past few months. I'm on my monthly weekend trip back to stumptown. I'm leaving the place where my butt incessantly sweats. I know what you're saying... Hey, some people's backs sweat more than the rest of their bodies, some peoples nose's, I happen to have a sweaty butt most of the time down here in what locals call the valley of the sun. I call it the valley of the living hellspawn. Phoenix sucks. Beyond the heat that makes dashboards split during typical 115 degree afternoons, beyond some of the most idiotic drivers I've ever encountered on this fair planet of ours (currently rated second, next to some other city with even more stupider drivers), beyond the utter lack of a cultural / historical hub that ties most of the larger cities together (1. - Phoenix likes to tear down the old, historic districts in favor of things that look alike, thus the strip mall city label it's been rightly branded with, and 2. - the Phoenix area is currently the fifth largest city in the U.S.; ten years ago it was like the twenty-first or some such shit), beyond the pale of all this crap that sends most people fleeing from the hellspawn existence that the minions of "sheeple" (credit to Jason Piontek, SIPP Processer dork, for the coinage), blindly embrace in this butt-sweating of a crappy place to reside... - beyond all of this utterly indefensible crap, is the water.

 

First, there is none. Second, what there is of it, tastes like the government is poisoning its own populace with chemicals. Maybe that's why everybody drives like dumbasses - they're actually suffering from some form of chemical toxicity poisoning. Maybe that's why the standard of beauty is liposucted, boobage augmented, rhinoplasticized, fake plastic figurines of sheeple reconstructed to look like some distorted, chemically altered rendering of a people attempting to cheat God out of one the many quiet little jokes the big man upstairs has played on us "sheeples" over the ages.

 

So, they have these things called lakes. Tempe has one. In reality, it is what is left of the Salt River that trickles through It's old river bed only during the occasional monsoon downpour. So the city planners built a concrete retaining ring and blocked the flow of the sad, bleeding river. It's a sterile reservoir, but they call it a lake. Like saying the Iraq war is a war on terrorism. Just call it what it is - a reservoir. A war profiteering opportunity. A valley that cannot sustain it's population demands without drawing off outside reserves. A country that cannot sustain it's... population demands... without... drawing off outside oil reserves...

 

If I were King

 

And now for something completely different. Heather moved down here with her little beagle named Buster so we could be together - a very good thing. Ruby actually ruptured her ACL knee ligament about six weeks ago. three weeks ago she underwent a TPLO surgical process where the surgeon cut the top of her Tibia (lower, non-rotating leg bone) and repositioned it so that she doesn't need her ACL. So far she's doing great. We've been going on walks for the past week, the swelling around the site is going down nicely, she's getting nightly gentle leg massages, and a lot of extra attention (not like she doesn't get it already). Heather just got a job with a bank processing... paper; apparently as dull as my job, though she said that it's kind of interesting living vicariously through the folders that represent people's lives - seeing the divorces and the subsequent division of assets; the distribution of insurance, retirement, financial little ducats of pain and suffering - financial snapshots of the American dream.

 

And so ends the report from the desert...

 

The Past, Present, Future...

 

 

Copyright 2010 John M. Chandler (a mine; not yours production)

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