The Green Zone

I was conversing with my friend Hazmit(www.hazmit.blogspot.com/) about his new home that was recently purchased , and I was congratulating him on the achievement of moving his young wife and son to a nice neighborhood . Like myself, Hazmit had not exactly purchased his first home in the best of neighborhoods. Unlike yours truly, his first home was very nice and comfortable, but the neighborhood was full of discontented people and malcontents. That is why I was very happy for the family when he bought the new home in one of our nicer subdivisions. During our discussion about his plans for the home it suddenly became obvious to me that like Iraq, we too have "safe zones" and combat areas. Hazmit had taken his family to the "Green Zone" if you will, and I can understand why. Having lived in the equivalent of Faluzia(sp?) for the past three decades, I have become accustomed to scowling and threatening the neighbors, and truthfully had forgotten that everyone doesn't live like that.Locking every thing up and making nightly rounds has become a way of life. I noticed the other day that someone had stuck a crude sign near an intersection advertising "Pups for sale. Half Rott and half Pitt bull". They were only asking $50 each. Only in my neighborhood, You gotta love it!! None of these little old sissy-assed dogs for the hood. Every day brings a new adventure as urban renewal takes place. Some person with vision has set fire to three derelict buildings since last fall. I have entertained fleeting thoughts of packing up and moving Sandy to the Green Zone, but I always come to reality that safety and security is not for everyone. I have to have this edge and feelings of apprehension before I can feel fulfilled. Hazmit's new neighborhood is complete with a golf course and I just can't relate to golfers. Rumor has it that the houses adjoining the course often has golfers walking through the back lawns and even hitting balls from your property! Lord save me from those pastel clad wimps swinging clubs, and save them from me if I owned one of those houses. I've lived in the hood so long that I would construct traps and deadfalls to keep these white ball chasers out of my lawn. I think that a razor sharp wire strung about neck level would keep the golf carts at bay after the first few visits to the emergency room. The real oddity is that they say those lots next to the golf course cost more money!! Obviously I think that my current zone is a lot more suitable for me, at least I wouldn't have to go out and buy me a new wardrobe of pastel yuppie clothes. Now Hazmit will do fine with the clothing because his pretty little wife always looks like the newest fashion ,and often dresses he and the little lad in the newest styles. I think he even owns some of those little old socks that don't stick up out of your shoes, and I think he keeps his tennis shoes gleaming white and spotless, something that is in the covenant of the subdivision. You know you have to have a certain amount of square footage and adhere to the building requirements, as well as wear Tommy on Monday, Ralph Lauren on Tuesday, Michael Kors on Wednesday; you get the picture. I think Hazmit is going to miss the excitement of the hood, and that sooner or later he will go to a cookout wearing a melon colored Polo shirt when everyone knew it was supposed to be ocean blue. I guess I'm staying in the hood so he can come for a while and smell the burning rubber and hear the neighbors curse and throw bottles at each other. I'm afraid he will have slum environment withdrawal if he does this thing too quick. He always has Jerry Garcia's big ass to protect and he will have to continue coming down here to Faluzia out of the green zone for continuing education and to keep his edge. At some point I know my boy will eventually quit coming to the hood, and my worse fear is that I'll find him riding around in a Golf cart with seersucker madras shorts and a pastel polo shirt with the collar turned up on his little tanned neck.Until that day arrives I will continue to welcome him back to the hood and give him moral support. Lock and load Hazmit, And good luck in the Green Zone. Everybody has to grow up someday.

Opening doors

I was thinking of how often we open a door to answer a knock or a chime. Sometimes we are pleasantly surprised and genuinely are happy to see the guest, while at other occasions the result is not so welcome. As I was driving through one of our upscale neighborhoods this past week I espied a Schwann's truck lumbering through the neatly clipped streets selling cholesterol and fats to the starving masses. For anyone who doesn't know , Schwanns has made huge profits by selling the icecreams and other culinary treats to Mom and Pop after they return from a hard day at the office. What was a jarring glimpse of reality to me was that the Schwanns trucks don't peddle their treats in my neighborhood. Why?? Simply because I have lived in the "hood" for the past 33 years. People in my neighborhood don't buy over-priced food when they can steal it in the more affluent subdivisions. With this in mind it becomes apparent that a late night knock on the door on Helm Street is not necessarily the same as say, a sophisticated Westminister Chime on Snob Knob.No sir, a knock on Helm can often be like "Let's Make A Deal". What's behind the door? Do you want door A, B, or C? I can tell you from experience that if you come to my door after dark you need to know the password or a snub-nosed .38 special might be rammed up your left nostril. People on Helm just don't like surprises. I have answered doors to supplicants wanting money for baby diapers with said hood -baby hanging on her hip as proof of the need. Somehow the need to contribute to the infant's comfort is offset that mama is chainsmoking cigarettes. I don't even bother to tell her why I'm not contributing tonight. Sometimes the smiling face belongs to a misplaced drunk, while every Saturday used to be packed with Zealous Jehovah's Witnesses, out earning their place in the after life. Sometimes it can be Salesmen wanting to clad your house in plastic siding, or wanting to sell you replacement windows. The truth of the matter is that the only salesman sure to make a sale in the hood would be a heavy arms dealer. The ring du jour are the newly- sewn crop of would-be politicians , as they have had revelations and visions of helping the misguided masses of Lincoln County and Stanford. I have Comrade Dave's sign prominently displayed in my front lawn as he is running for Magistrate of District No. 1. Daves wife had previously told him if he ran for anything else he would be running as a single man. He swore to her that his running days were over, and guess what?? Dave is running again. God love him!! Anybody that can lie to his wife and get by with it is a Natural for Politics! He's got my Vote.This beautiful month has always been the harbinger of spring with colorful blossoms and spring flowers, yet this election year has seen a bumper crop of political signs as numerous as the stars above. These yard signs have sprung up almost overnight as the candidates proudly proclaim their dreams and hopes of bureaucracy. Some are bright red, others are blue , while some are eye catching yellow. Most have stars and some hint at patriotic red, white, and blue. All speak of dedication , long hours ,and experience. What kind of experience does it take to be a politician? Nobody has profanity on their placards as this would be regarded as inappropriate for a would be office holder, and I've yet to see a political sign with large breasted Pamela Anderson's body on it. No sir these boys and girls are presenting their most moral face. They don't come to Helm Street much asking for votes. I've noticed that Eastern Kentucky takes it's elections more serious than Central Kentucky. Everybody that runs has a Nickname. In Clay County I noticed "Crawdad" is running for Judge Executive. He has black signs with a vivid, hot yellow crawdad stencilled on the left, while proudly proclaiming"Crawdad for Judge". I've seen "Goat "running for something in Estill County, while we can only come up with"What about Bob" here in Lincoln County. What about Bob indeed? My friend Dave is going to open his can of Whoop- Ass and go for the gold.Once I was in Harlan and my friends were laughing about this man who had spent $100,000 to try to win a school board race, and lost! This tells me something. I think that opening Door A in Harlan County gives something worthwhile. In our own little county there was a comely Lass that made off with nearly $300,000 from the Industrial Board where she was a part time secretary She was sent to prison and spent three months. That is $100 Grand a month for the inconvenience of staying away from home for 90 days.She always wore tight jeans.The magistrates on Fiscal Court never mentioned the theft.Some are running for reelection.The tight jeans opened Door B and won. The Industrial Board escorted her up to Door B.I'll be glad when the Primary is over so we can start again for the November General Election.I think I'll steal one of Crawdad's signs and put it in the front yard next to Dave's. Can't hurt.