The State of Hate in Arizona

by Pa Rock
Social Observer

Remember William Kostric, the moron who showed up at President Obama’s town hall meeting in New Hampshire this week packing a pistol? He carried a sign with a thinly veiled death threat that read: “It is time to water the tree of liberty.” Kostric wondered aloud to Chris Matthews on Hardball why more good Americans, like him, weren’t showing up armed at these events?

My first thought regarding this evolutionary throwback was that he would fit right into the cultural landscape of Arizona. Imagine my lack of surprise when I learned later that he had recently relocated to New Hampshire from Scottsdale, Arizona!

To say that Arizona has its fair share of dangerous and demented nut jobs would be gross understatement. The state is rife with hate – and damned proud of it!

This week Dr. Heidi Beirich, a representative of the Southern Poverty Law Center, spoke in Phoenix and gave a public presentation on the increase of hate group activity in Arizona. She listed the three primary reasons for the rise of extremist activity in the state as being the election of a black President, the weak economy, and the nativist uproar over illegal immigration from Mexico. Arizona, due primarily to its long border with Mexico, seems to go especially berserk whenever it appears that anyone with brown skin is being treated fairly or humanely.

Dr. Beirich had particularly pointed remarks concerning Joe Arpaio, the sheriff of Maricopa County, and state senator Russell Pearce, both of whom she sees as pandering toward members of these groups and thus empowering them with a sense of legitimacy.

The Southern Poverty Law Center recognizes nineteen distinct hate groups currently operating in Arizona. Three are classified as Racist Skinhead organizations: the Western Hammerskins (statewide), Vinlanders Social Club (Mesa), and Volksfront (Phoenix). The term "Skinheads" refers to young thugs with shaved heads and plenty of tattoos who get off on drugs and violence. The group had its origins in Great Britain fifty years ago. It later split into two distinct factions - the racists and the anti-racists - and both varieties crossed the Atlantic Ocean where they were able to infest America. And lucky Arizona - we got the "racist" version of these vermin!

Ten of the hate groups are Neo-Nazi: the White Knights of America (statewide), White Revolution (statewide), National Socialist Movement – NSM (Apache Junction), American Thule Society (Black Canyon City), National Socialist Movement (Cochise County), Aryan Nations (Goodyear – an All-American City!), American National Socialist Workers Party (Phoenix), Aryan Nations (Phoenix), and National Socialist Movement – NSM (Phoenix). The Neo-Nazis profess a love of Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany, and they are stridently vocal in their hatred of Jews. (Didn't we fight a big war against this type of scum?)

The remaining hate groups with Arizona chapters include: the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints (General Hate – Colorado City), Remnant Outreach Ministries (Christian Identity – Cottonwood), Arizona White Pride (White Nationalist – Maricopa County), Nation of Islam (Black Separatist – Phoenix), American Border Patrol (Anti-Immigrant – Sierra Vista), and the United Northern and Southern Knights of the Ku Klux Klan (KKK – Tempe).

Other reported hate groups in Arizona include the National Organization for European American Rights, World Church of the Creator (Florence and Tucson), Hammerskin Nation (Glendale and Mesa), and the National Alliance (Phoenix).

Arizona is truly blessed to have this many organized ways to hate. What could be sadder than a racist, moronic, gun-toting Neanderthal without a support group? New Hampshire must be a deep pit of putrefying prejudice to lure William Kostric away from this scorpion and rattlesnake-riddled, fascist nirvana!

Let us prey.

One final note: The President of the United States and Mrs. Obama - and their little girls - will be in Arizona this Sunday and Monday. So far his town hall meetings on health care have been polite and productive. That ain't gonna happen here. Tread with care, Mr. President. These bastards are seriously scary.

The Thirty Dollar Boot

by Pa Rock
Economic Stimulator

After a morning of still more unpacking and laundry, I headed off to the gym this afternoon where I did a little over two-and-a-half miles on the treadmill at a brisk clip, some pull-ups with the weights, and then sat in the wonderful, bubbling sauna for a shamefully long time. The iPod is adding years to my life. It currently has 3,220 songs, and is basically the soundtrack of my life. I slap on those headphones, cover the numbers on the treadmill with a towel, and rock-on for a minimum of ten songs - which puts me somewhere over thirty minutes. (If Alice's Restaurant or some anthem from Woodstock happens to shuffle to the top, I could be stepping along for forty-five minutes or more.) Time, as they say, truly does fly when you're having fun!

The gym was followed by a trip to Costco, usually an expensive venture, but this time I got away with just two books - both by Dr. Seuss, my favorite author. I also partook of their "hot dog deal" which completely negated any benefit from the treadmill!

My home is in Litchfield Park, the gym is in Goodyear, and Costco is in Avondale - all relatively close. I tried to get from Avondale to Surprise without using one of the major thruways, but my progress was repeatedly thwarted by closed roads and dead ends. Before I gave up and hit the 101, however, I did discover the little community of Maryvale, a grotto of relatively poor housing nestled within the tile-and-tan expensive sprawl that is modern Arizona.

Surprise, Arizona, might sound like a ghost town, but it is actually one of the more modern and progressive parts of the valley. It is about five miles due north of Luke Air Force Base on Litchfield. The city of Surprise has all of the national chain stores and restaurants, and new homes and apartments are springing up at a fierce and alarming rate.

My objective in going to Surprise was to visit Lowe's where I purchased, among other things, a gigantic wind chime, and a very large, cement, and weather-beaten boot that is painted several shades of brown. The boot is actually a planter, and tomorrow I will stuff it with a cactus. Tonight it is sitting empty by my front porch. (I'm not concerned about any of the neighbors making off with it, because the damned thing weighs a ton and none of their scooter chairs could handle the heist!)

And that was my day in one-hundred-and-ten degree Arizona!

Cry Me a River

by Pa Rock
Local Observer

Yesterday evening I watched a flock of geese, flying in V formation, above Goodyear, Arizona. The geese were headed due east.

East?

It was almost dark, a time when they should have been fluffing their goose down and settling in for an evening's rest in some quiet backwater. But where is the backwater, or any water for that matter, in the West Valley of Hell? Maybe they were headed for a pool in the backyard of some foreclosed, abandoned home. I certainly hoped they were not counting on finding water in the Agua Fria (Cold Water) River. The last time that particular rocky trench contained water there were probably dinosaurs lining its banks.

My move to Arizona a couple of years ago was a rush job. I had to find a place to rent via the Internet and telephone. One of the first things I did was to study maps of the West Valley so that I could find something convenient to my work. Every map of the Phoenix area that I consulted showed the Agua Fria River meandering through the desert communities of Glendale and Avondale, close to Goodyear and Surprise. It was always colored a bright blue.

I have lived here long enough to experience rain - on a couple of rare occasions. Rain rolls off of the desert and collects in the parking lots and roadways where it causes surprise flooding. But rain never, ever causes any water to collect in the Agua Fria - I've checked!

Reluctantly, I have come to two conclusions regarding the clowns who create maps of Phoenix and its environs: 1. They are on the take from the tourism industry, and 2. They are lying bastards!

My best guess is that the geese were headed toward the Salt River which is on the other side of Phoenix proper. The Salt has water, lots of water. It laps up against Arizona State University where 50,000 young people spend their parents money riding the new Metro Light Rail and drinking designer coffee. They are lucky bastards!

And, on a semi-related note, Arizona is making plans for its share of the stimulus money that the Feds are distributing. We were told that the West Valley could get connected to the Metro Light Rail in twenty years - maybe. That was before the stimulus money was even anticipated. Now they are saying that it will still be twenty years before we can get connected to the Light Rail - but, if the stimulus is sufficient, they might be able to start providing covered parking for the Light Rail riders in the East Valley now.

They are truly lucky bastards! But until that covered parking is completed, may the yuppies have to wash the goose poop off of their little cars every morning before they hit the Starbucks! There ought to be some fairness in this life somewhere, or at least an occasional mud puddle.

Tim Macy Rides Again!

by Pa Rock
Proud Father

This afternoon I watched an exceptional short film entitled The Dying Western that was based on a story written by my son, Tim, who also played a major role in turning the story into a movie script. The story was brought to the screen by a very talented group of university drama students in Ohio. Western isn't the only story of Tim's that has been made into a movie. A couple of years ago a Hollywood professional turned a story entitled The Brass Teapot into a short film of the same name. Teapot was entered into an international film competition in the United Arab Emirates.

The Dying Western is professional in every sense of the word. The university students took a very clever story idea and made it into a captivating film. The DVD of their work contains the movie itself, along with outtakes, an alternate ending, story boards, and a great deal of information about how they were able to make such a classy film on a student budget. It could actually serve as a short course on the mechanics of making a movie.

I wish I could report that this wonderful film is for sale on Amazon.com or Barnes and Noble, but it's not. But if you ever find yourself in Goodyear, Arizona, stop by and join me in a Tim Macy Film Festival!

Being proud is an important component of parenting. From posting kindergarten doodles on the refrigerator, to attending recitals, graduations, marriages, special recognitions, and beyond, parents have innumerable opportunities to bask in the glow of the achievements of their young. The achievements of all three of my children are a constant source of button-busting pride. I'm one lucky (and proud) dad!

Where Have All the Good Films Gone? Gone to Scottsdale Every One!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

A couple of weekends ago I was driving through Goodyear or Avondale one evening when a young man (high school young) passed me in a small red car. Printed across his back window in six-inch tall Old English Script was this bit of personal vitriol: "Fuck Scottsdale." It wasn't overly eloquent, but Shakespeare probably wasn't either when he was this lad's age. I assumed the boy had probably lost his lady love to some yuppie spawn in the East Valley who was born with a silver spoon up his nose.

The longer I live in the Valley of Hell, the more I come to realize how things here really work. The proletariat lives in central Phoenix and in the West Valley, while those who are not so frantic to make a living (including university students), gather in the coffee bars, art galleries, and outdoor cafes that border their comfortable neighborhoods in the East Valley. Later this month they will also have the Valley's first Light Rail which should help to lessen the horrendous bicycle traffic and save on valuable Birkenstock leather! (The West Valley, where the workers live - and necessarily drive - has been told that they can expect their own Light Rail in twenty years.)

But, I digress. My purpose today is to talk about movies. Recently there have been a spate of advertisements on television for what appear to be some really great films. The problem is that when I pull up the movie guide for a twenty-five mile radius of where I live, all of the films that are available in the local theatres are crap. The really good shows are beyond the twenty-five mile limit - in Scottsdale! If I want to drive twenty-nine miles (forty minutes) to Scottsdale this afternoon, I can see: Doubt, Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, I've Loved You So Long, or The Boy in the Striped Pajama's - none of which are playing any closer. The film distributors seem to believe that the intellect of the East Valley hasn't seeped beyond Central Avenue. People in the West Valley should be content with movies that they are capable of understanding: Christmas comedies, cartoons, and violent action flicks.

The more that I think about it, the more I agree with the philosophy of the kid in the little red car!

Thanskgiving Thursday

by Pa Rock
Parade Float

The Macy's had two Thanksgiving Parades today - the traditional one in New York City, and a west coast affair that stretched from San Diego to the center of Arizona. I paraded out to the airport this morning in a heavy rain to get Tim and Erin to their plane, then Nick and I paraded over to Coronado to return Scott's jacket that he had left in my car, and to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Files and little Sebastian. Nick and I completed the day by parading back to Goodyear, with the rain following us most of the way. It was so nice to see rain falling across the Sonoran Desert! There was a rainbow over San Diego as we left, and a rainbow over Phoenix as we got back. With omens that good, I had to buy some lottery tickets!

A fellow at a gas station in San Diego told me that he has lived there since 1973, and last night's rain was the heaviest that he has seen in all of that time. There were even tornado warnings for Coronado Island last night. Who knew they had tornado's on the seacoast?

Tonight Nick and I paraded around Goodyear looking for pizza, but to no avail. Even the local grocery store was closed. We finally stumbled across an Arby's that was open and were able to procure sandwiches for our Thanksgiving meal!

Nick will fly out of Sky Harbor early tomorrow, and my life will start to get back to some degree of normality. Tomorrow night I am going to a Phoenix Suns basketball game. They are playing the Miami Heat. I may also go by work for a couple of hours and clear off whatever has piled up on my desk this week - if the shredder is working!

Dear Sarah Palin

Dear Sarah Palin,
Tonight you are giving "the speech of your life" in Minnesota, and I am sitting at home in Goodyear, AZ, missing it. Please don't take that as a personal rebuff, because I am currently without television service, and when my radio is on I prefer jazz over politics. And besides, what could possibly be left to learn about you anyway? You and your family have pretty much blanketed the Internet news outlets for two days now - and the Internet is where I turn to stay up-to-the-minute on matters of national and world import.

It was through the Internet that I found out that you know how to field dress a moose. And I know that you like to fish, even if you occasionally forget to buy one of those pesky fishing licenses. I am certain that with talents like those you will be (are?) a wonderful grandmother.

But some of the other stuff that I'm reading about you is not as glowing. In fact, if what I am reading is true, you seem to be rather mean and stupid.

Are you forcing your daughter to marry her "fuckin' redneck" boyfriend? Maybe you should visit a few women's shelters and listen to some of their stories before forcing a political solution on a family situation. Did you really move to take funds away from programs for unwed mothers in Alaska? Why would you do something so cruel to a group of defenseless teen girls who made a mistake - a mistake that can occur in the best of families. And do you truly believe, deep in your heart of hearts, that girls who are impregnated by their fathers, brothers, or savage rapists should be made to bear and give birth to the children of their attackers? If you answered yes to any of those questions, then you are a mean person. If you answered yes to all of those questions, then you are a despicably cruel person. (And I never even got around to discussing your unconscionable views on polar bears!)

That still leaves stupid.

Teaching creationism in public schools as science is stupid beyond measure. Oh, I guess if you want your children to grow up making poor quality meth for a living and crushing beer cans on their foreheads, it probably won't do them any harm. But if you would like for your children to eventually become doctors, scientists, or work in any field where they have to rely on their intellect, then cluttering school curricula with hokum and nonsense will dramatically diminish their potential.

And teaching (preaching) abstinence as the sole source of birth control - how's that working our for you? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Shame on you and the moose you rode in on!

Pa Rock

The Pep Boys of Casa Grande

by Pa Rock

I pulled out of Goodyear, AZ, yesterday just prior to 8 a.m. I had every intention of driving to Tombstone, Bisbee, and Douglas, AZ, and then on to Agua Prieta, Mexico. I didn't pack a bag or my ever-present insulin because I planned on doing all of that and returning to Goodyear in the same day. That's why I hit the road so early.

At a few minutes before 9 a.m. I noticed that I was almost out of gas, so I took the first exit at Casa Grande, AZ, and was soon pulling up at one of the over-priced gas stations that line America's interstates. As I reached for the cap to the gas tank, I was hit with the sudden realization that I have a locking cap - an intentional measure to keep from having the cap stolen - which happens to me on a fairly regular basis. The problem: my gas cap key was on the ring of keys that I had lost at Luke Air Force Base a few days earlier. So there I was, fifty miles away from home, out of gas, and with no way to get any!

A girl at the gas station pointed me on down the road to an Auto Zone that was due to open at 9 a.m. The fellow at Auto Zone, after he quit waiting on all of his paying customers, went outside and looked at my gas cap. After telling me that he couldn't be of help, he pointed me further down the road to Pep Boys, an auto parts store that also does repairs, maintenance, and sells tires.

The first Pep Boy that I talked to told me they would have to break the cap off. Go right ahead, I told him. But, he addced, I'm not sure we want to do that so close to the gas tank. It might blow up! (What he didn't realize was that I, too, might blow up!)

Finally, after pulling my car safely around the side of the building, a daring, young Pep Boy came out with a small crow bar. He placed the business end of the tool under the lip of the cap, gave it one gentle tap, and the cap popped off in three pieces. (It was nice to know that my expensive locking cap offered essentially no more protection to my precious gas than a cheap, screw-on cap!)

The two front tires on my car were worn out and pulling badly to the right, so I decided to celebrate my good fortune at encountering Casa Grande's Pep Boys (on a Sunday morning of a holiday weekend!) by buying a couple of new tires. I was planning on sitting in the shade and reading while they were being put on, but I fell prey to Arizona's official state nuisance, a retired person who wanted to talk!

I eventually hit the road again at 11 a.m. By then I knew that my trip would be abbreviated, but I was able make it on to Tombstone. Tombstone proved to be the end of line for my day trip.

AAA Sucks!

by Pa Rock

I want to tell you about the pain and misery that I brought upon myself when I carelessly lost my keys (car, home and office) last week, because doing so will help clarify why I didn't make it all the way to Mexico yesterday - but that trip will be discussed in a later post.

Last Thursday afternoon as I was walking across Luke Air Force Base, I shuffled some items from one of my pants pockets to the other. An hour or so later I discovered that my keys were gone. After searching all of the likely places, I came to the conclusion that they must have hit the ground during my pocket rearrangement.

The first crisis that had to be solved was how I was going to drive home that night. I called Triple A, a service that I have been a member of for years and with whom I had never experienced a problem. The first thing I learned was that my membership was going to expire in three days - quite a surprise since I had never had a renewal letter, but, oh well, it was still good.

Well, the lady on the phone told explained, it may not be good. Her screen was flashing the word "cash", which she explained meant that I had used up my allotted calls and would have to pay for this one myself. Oh, I asked, how many calls am I allotted on my Triple A "Plus" membership? Four, she replied. (I had never been told that there was a limit.) And how many calls have I had? Two, she replied cheerfully. Hmmm...and though I only remember one of those two, wouldn't I still have two remaining - even if your count was correct. Yes, she said. I'm going to have to do some more checking. She came back on a few minutes later saying that it might take awhile because the person she needed to talk to wasn't answering the phone.

No, that person isn't answering the phone because they've gone home, which is what I need to do. The base that I am calling from is closing, and if I don't get home soon, my landlord's chirpettes will be out of the office and I will have to sleep on the sidewalk tonight. Call a locksmith...now...and I will straighten Triple A out tomorrow!

The locksmith arrived ninety minutes later. The young man informed me that the cost of making a new key would be $135, and that I would have to pay $35 up front and he would bill Triple A for the rest. Fair enough. Even with money in hand, it took him over half an hour to get a key made, and it worked the ignition and every lock except the trunk. The locksmith told me that Arizona was so dry that if a person used the clicker all the time to gain entry to their vehicle, as myself and everyone else I know does, the lock mechanisms tend to dry up and quit working with keys.

The next day I called the number on my card for customer service. I renewed my card last year in Kentucky, so I reached an office in Lexington. That fellow told me that according to his computer, I had had four service calls since January. I asked for dates, and he provided them. Two of the calls had been on the same day last January. Knowing that at least three of the calls were fakes, I asked for copies of the bills. I'm sorry, he said, but Arizona would have those because that's where they were billed from. I'll connect you with Arizona, but here is their number in case we get cut off. With that he promptly connected me to the California office of Triple A.

It took California a while to figure out that I wasn't theirs, then they told me to hang on while they transferred me. It took me a few more minutes to realize that they had hung up on me. I then called the number that the nice fellow in Kentucky had given me. It turned out that was a number for vacation planning, but they were able to connect me with someone who supposedly could help. That young man informed me that I would have to pay the $100 because I had used up all of my calls.

You don't understand, sir. I am talking about fraud. I never made those service requests.

Oh, you want to report fraud?

Yes, but first I want copies of those bills.

I'm sorry, but I don't have access to those. You can report fraud at this number, and he proceeded to rattle off a string of digits. And their website is...

Their website? Will I be dealing with an agency of Triple A?

Oh, yes sir.

So I made the call. It was the National Insurance Fraud Hotline, and was not related to Triple A in any way. I filed a report with them over the phone. My next call was to my insurance agent to see how much towing and locksmith insurance would run. I had been paying AAA over eighty dollars a year for that service, but now I was mortally pissed and needed an alternative. My agent, Desi Smith of Goodyear, told me that the coverage would be $5 every six months. Sign me up, Desi, sign me up!

Now hear this: Even though I have had many years of wonderful service from Triple A, those days are gone. Triple A (especially Triple A Arizona) sucks. They suck, they swallow, they throw up in your lap, and they suck some more! If you need coverage for towing or a locksmith, check with your auto insurance agent. They are far cheaper, and when you have a problem, you can talk to someone you know!

Piso mojado!

Back in the Heat

by Pa Rock

Our traveling show arrived back in Goodyear, AZ, late this afternoon. It was an uneventful trip home. We stopped a few places and took pictures of the amazing mountains of round rocks that Interstate 8 passes through between El Centro and San Diego. We also took pictures of the energy windmills that line the last ridge of hills before the highway begins its long descent into San Diego.

Not being in a hurry to get home, we made a couple other excursions along the way. We pulled into a little cafe, gift shop, and date grove called Dateland, where Boone had a date shake that he really liked. (I had tried one on my previous trip and found it to be far too sweet, even for me!) We also stopped at a gift shop in Gila Bend, where the old timer that runs the place (think Desert Pete) gives out cold bottled water free to everyone who stops in to peruse his wares. It's the desert, he says, and people need plenty of water! Gila Bend is just across the border from Ajo, Mexico, and he gets his art work and assorted merchandize directly from the Mexican artisans in the Ajo area. The man has a nice shop with very reasonably priced items. I bought my second piece of horsehair pottery there today, and Nick made a few purchases as well. The clever businessman ended our transactions by giving us our change in John Quincy Adams dollars!

Tonight Nick and Boone are swimming in one of the pools at my apartment complex, and I am contemplating unpacking. They are leaving tomorrow at 5 a.m., and I already miss them. This long weekend has not nearly been long enough!

On the Road to San Diego

by Pa Rock

Nick, Boone, and I left Goodyear just before daylight and made it to San Diego around noon. It was a nice trip out because Nick drove the entire way. I was able to sit back and enjoy the scenery!

A couple of over-the-road observations: It is 340 miles from Goodyear to San Diego, with most of the trip being on US 8, a major, four-lane interstate. In what should be a busy time for tourists, we saw only two RV's. Two! And truck traffic is down very noticeably. It was easy to see where the truck traffic is going. Between Gila Bend, AZ, and El Centro, CA, we saw six long trains double-stacked with cargo containers. America is doing its shipping on the rails!

We also went through three border patrol checkpoints. At one they asked us where we were coming from and waved us through, and at the other two they just waved us through. (We had cautioned Boone not to start speaking Spanish if we were pulled over!) A long stretch of US 8 runs along the border with Mexico. We saw numerous Border Patrol vehicles on patrol and occasional guard towers looking off toward the Mexican sand dunes.

Our room wasn't ready when we got to the hotel, so we took off to Mission Beach and spent time wading in the surf. It was Boone's first view of the ocean. He wants to go back tomorrow. Mission Beach has lots of shops and an amusement park, so there is plenty to do. Tonight we are headed to the Gas Lamp District.

Our hotel is the Downtown Holiday Inn, and we are on the 11th floor with a fantastic view of the city. There will be lots to see and do before our departure on Monday morning.

Visitors

Two of my friends, James and Patti Carroll of Noel, MO, were in Phoenix Thursday evening. They arrived in the late afternoon, rented a car at Sky Harbor Airport, and then drove across Phoenix on Interstate 10 in rush hour traffic and 110 degree heat. I am sure that they had had quite enough of The Valley of the Sun by the time they made it to my place in Goodyear. Later that evening after a nice meal and a tour of Luke Air Force Base, we stopped at a local CVS so Patti could by a few necessaries for their trip to Sedona the following day. James and I sat in the car and visited while Patti went to do her shopping. When she returned to the car, she had a bemused look on her face. Patti said that she had been exchanging small talk with the clerk in the store and had mentioned that she was here on vacation. The clerk had replied, somewhat astonished, "You're vacationing here!

Amen, sister!

But It's a Dry Heat!

by Pa Rock
Itinerant Weatherman

Yesterday, the 19th of May in the year 2008, the temperature in Goodyear, Arizona, reached 113 degrees! In Phoenix proper the high was a more modest 110 degrees. The record high temperature in Phoenix for the 19th of May had been 105 degrees - and that mark was set last year! Today, in the early afternoon, it was 105 degrees here, and getting hotter! Dear Leader may say there is no such thing as global warming, but he has Crawford crap oozing out of his jug ears. Global warming is the real deal!

Yes, I knew when I moved to the desert that it would be hot. I expected to spend a couple of months each year suffering under the unrelenting sun. Those months that I expected to suffer were July and August. Nobody told me that I would be able to fry steak and eggs on the sidewalk in the middle of spring!

When God, in Her infinite wisdom, made the Valley of the Sun, I think She saw it strictly as being a playground for scorpions and Gila monsters. Surely She could have had no inkling that Man would be so masochistic (or dumb) as to try and live in the foyer of Hell.

I'd bitch some more, but it's too damned hot!

Neighborhood Excitement!

I've just come in from hustling my little convertible out of harm's way. A neighborhood girl came to my door thirty minutes ago to alert me that a car was on fire in the parking lot. I ran to investigate and found that the vehicle in flames was just two spaces down from my own. I got mine safely out of the way shortly before the fire department arrived. They were able to put the fire out before it reached the fuel tank, and all is now returning to normal in Goodyear Towne!

Firemen put their lives on the line every time they are called out. They truly deserve our respect and admiration!

Welcome to Arizona

My sister, Gail Macy from Fayetteville, AR, arrived today to spend the holiday weekend with me in the sunny southwest. Her first comment was that she was impressed with all of the palm trees.

The area of the West Valley that I live in is actually the Palm Valley section of Goodyear, and there are many palm trees - some that must be fifty feet tall. There are also lots of giant saguro cacti used in landscaping around this area. I asked a fellow here how landscapers managed to transplant these prickly behemoths. He said that they wrap them in blankets and then tip them onto a flatbed truck. After they are moved the landscapers tip them into the prepared hole and then remove the blankets. Some of the ones around here are twenty to twenty-five feet tall. They have a shallow root system so that they can gather as much water as possible during our infrequent rains. When it does rain, they swell with the added water and occasionally topple onto the ground - or a nearby car or house. I suppose that finding your car crushed beneath a cactus could really ruin your day!

Billary sent me another letter today begging for cash. She will get her postage-paid return envelope back in next week's mail - without a damned dime! When will she ever learn???

Super Bowl Sunday

Yesterday morning I witnessed a rare bit of symmetry while looking skyward: the Goodyear Blimp putting lazily over Goodyear, Arizona. That sighting was as close as I got, or wanted to get, to the Super Bowl circus.

This morning I went to the local grocery to do some quiet Sunday morning shopping. Surely the rest of the world would be in church or sleeping off their Saturday night reveleries. The first hint that I had misunderestimated (one of my favorite Bushisms!)the situation was when I went to get a cart and found that they were all gone. The store was alive with grabby shoppers filling their carts with steaks, charcoal, beer, wine, chips, and other items for their Super Bowl parties.

It's sad that most of these hometown football fanatics can't afford the price of a ticket to get into the stadium that their tax dollars built.

Calgon, Take Me Away!

I’ve been hooked up with a gym here in Goodyear for a few weeks. The one feature that I really hoped to find while I was gym-shopping was an indoor walking track, something that I enjoyed immensely when I was a member of the YMCA in Kentucky. But, alas, indoor walking tracks don’t seem to be in fashion in Arizona. It’s hard to understand why that is, because it gets so damnably hot here in the summer that anyone with an IQ higher than that of a doorknob or Bill O’Reilly wouldn't even consider walking outside between May and October!

So, I have been relegated to doing my indoor walking on a treadmill. I haven’t subjected this to scientific inquiry yet, but I am quickly developing the notion that a mile on a treadmill is a lot harder, and perhaps considerably farther, than a mile of walking around and around a track. It certainly seems that way!

The rest of my new gym is basically nothing out of the ordinary, with one notable exception being the pools and spas, of which there are two each – and they are enormous! After hitting a couple of weight machines yesterday and beating myself half-to-death on the treadmill, I decided to try out one of the spas. I was expecting it to be a relaxing experience, maybe a nice respite for ten minutes or so. But the roaring, swirling waters carried me away to a place I hadn’t been in a long, long, time, and before I realized it, a half-an-hour had slipped away and I really had no desire to get out. I left those magic waters reluctantly, feeling a sense of calm beyond any easy description.

And today, twenty-four hours later, that sense of calmness is still with me. I feel wonderful! I will continue my regular treks to the gym, and pay necessary homage to the treadmills and stationary bikes and weight machines, but now I will do so knowing that they are only minor hardships on the pathway to nirvana.

The day will certainly diminish me, but the spa awaits for rejuvenation!

Shalom!