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No really, I can't go on and on, I have to get ready for the presidential debates, which I hope to listen to on the radio, maybe get some visuals from the internet but probably not, unless I start to think I'm missing something like a sick Nixon, or an impatient Bush Sr., then I could log on, might be worth it if I could catch Dubayou snorting up the back drain from the blow he inhaled before the debate. Or Al blowing kisses to his wife, whatshername, while George explains why he's against aid to the Bosnian rebels in the Middle East. One things for sure, I can't dillydaddle around, got to hose down, and chow down, and at least read the comics before the debate starts.
I have time to say this one thing though, to my brother Paul, the criminology professor at that small private Catholic University in Austin, TX, congratulations on the birth of your new son, Sam Clifford, and to his wife Judy, good job, you're the greatest, but next time he aims that thing at you, call a cop. Also, I'm outing my brother as a radical, because I know he intends to vote for a minor candidate in the presidential election and that's fine and good because this is America, Land of the Free, but let me say this about that, and "that" is a vote for Nader, or anybody else who isn't Gore or Bush. A vote for a minor candidate is a vote for the fratboy. Which one you might ask?, and that's fair enough, so let me break it down for you: Bush is a fucking idiot from the aristocracy, Gore is a fairly well educated dweeb. The election process will always be a choice between lesser evils, let's not hope for or pretend otherwise. Its a tough decision really because I can imagine a scenario of the candidate I like least actually having better access to the "oil" which will make this country run most smoothly, and the one I'm going to vote for, if I get out that day, doesn't inspire me in the least. So why do I care, and what does it matter? Some would say--"do what thou will, that is the whole of the law," I'm saying always vote for yourself, and to this audience that I know and love in varying degrees, I say, Vote for the Dweeb.
This is kind of a cool thing I think. About a week ago I called the local power company, Entergy, and told them I was renovating a house that for all practical purposes had never had gas run to it ( the Rocheblave house was moved to its' present address from its' original location which was about three blocks away, on Dorgenois, across the street diagonally from Betsy's Pancake House, and was set on its' new cinderblock piers, some say it was Christmas Day '91, and then forgotten about for nine years, until I came along). I make it sound like I just made the call but for some reason calls like that take a lot out of me and so I am prone to putting them off. But the thing is, people in the business world don't really care if you are somewhat retarded communicationally [sic] speaking. You can stutter, stammer, hem and haw, or have a frog in your throat, the people on the other end don't really care as long as you can tell them your name, address, social securtiy number, and telephone number. Which I did, and the woman said, "Ok, you're all set, you are on the fifteen day waiting list" I asked her if I needed to be around when they came out and she said no I didn't. She also told me it would be free unless it ran over a hundred feet, and I told her it would not. A few days later I got a letter from some Entergy office in Arkansas, or St. Louis, and it told me there would be some cost involved, but their estimates were nothing, at least when you consider what is involved...
So today I show up at the house, after my day job, and there is a four by six by six foot deep hole in the street in front of the house, partitioned off with four metal saw horses and some of that yellow plastic caution tape. About ten feet into the driveway there was apparently another hole punched through the concrete and ten feet from that, near the shade tree, another hole punched in the concrete and then a trench six or eight feet in length running up to the house with a new gas pipe sticking up at its end. All the holes on my property are pretty much covered over with new river sand, which of course leaves the original fill (black dirt, clay and old bricks), and large pieces of driveway concrete, in various piles about the driveway. It is really quite a scene, and implies the use of heavy equipment that those of us who are prone to do so--can only dream about operating.