(from April 18th, 2006… I can’t find this in the archives, so here it is again, with comments attached.)

Really, need I say more? I don’t think so. I think the hedder suffices. But if your need to know is pressing, like the concrete backer board that was pressing against my legs this morning, here you…

There was a school district/neighborhood summit over at Humboldt Elementary last night. First the mucky-mucks from the district bored the shit out of us with yet another PowerPoint demo. (What is it with the People in Charge and their love for PowerPoint?) Really, this was their first mistake. Because people are affected by PowerPoint in one of three ways 1) They assume it will give them Power! And more Power! And they ride the fucking six pack, to quote, who? Green River? Yes! (Or “Something!” as Wacky Girl would say 2) They are bored to sleep 3) They get pissed off and the tension in the room grows. 3) Is what happened last night.

So the district is all it’ll be great! Humboldt has high test scores! Ockley Green (the school where Humboldt students would transfer) has low scores! You can help! No, it’s soooooooo not because this is a poor neighborhood. No, nothing to do with race. It’ll be fantastic, just wait!

And the House said: No. Not amen. No. No, no, no. We don’t like the adult porn store right across the street from OG. We don’t like our kids having to walk a long, long ways to get to school. We don’t like having to drive them to OG when they can walk to Humboldt. We don’t like being told what to do. No, no, no. Everyone went nuts. It is an interesting night when Wacky Mommy is the calmest person in the room. And we were on the 11 o’clock news, so that was cool. Take that, school district.

My favorite speaker of the evening was the Humboldt student, a young man, who said, All I can say now is that you guys are doing something really stupid. Period. Which of course made everyone cheer and stamp their feet.

Now today, the contractor arrives. Not the one who needs to finish repairing the floor. Mister “I needed an eight-foot board and they only cut me seven-and-a-half. I’ll be back. Or someone will. I’ll call the supervisor and he can call your husband.” No, it wasn’t the floor guy. It was the tile guy, with a delivery.

He stacked boxes of tiles, bags of Versabond, plastic sheeting, caulk, all this shit in my office. But they can’t do the tile, see, until the floor guy is done. But I’m being open-minded and all. I’m thinking, The tile, she is here! But what to do with the backer board? The guy stacks it on the front porch, tells us, If it rains it’ll need to be covered with a tarp, or it’ll get ruined, then leaves.

It rains a lot here.

He left the tarp on the table on the front porch. Can you see where this is going? I’m thinking, It’s sunny — it’s not going to rain — followed by, This is Portland, Oregon. The only time it doesn’t rain here is July 15 through Sept. 22. Roughly. So I throw the tarp over the shit (nine fucking heavy ugly concrete backer boards) and am tucking it in around the edges when it topples. On my legs. Pinning me. Turns out he had them propped Way Too Vertical. Fucking asshole idiot contractor.

Yet here I am, writing. Do you believe in miracles? Yes! No, I don’t, not so much. But I do believe in Roadmaster Trikes, cuz that’s what the boards landed on, thus saving me from the life of a parapalegic. It torqued the seat but didn’t crush it. This is the power of Roadmaster. Jesus God, your life really does flash before your eyes, it’s true. I yelled for the neighbor (not the Naked One, she wasn’t home. The Nasty One on the other side, whose house is closer) and she came over and helped me extricate myself. This makes her the Not-So-Nasty-Neighbor, no?).

Then I called, in order, the contractors, You frickin’ need to finish the bathroom right now. My legs were almost crushed. And bring my kid a new trike, ya idiot; my best friend Zip, who said, Jesus, what if it had been one of the kids? which made me cry harder, because of course that thought was already going through my head over and over and over and over; and Hockey God, who said, Did they get broken? (referring to the backer boards, not my legs, thus prompting me to hang up on him).

He realized the severity of the incident when the contractors actually called him before he had a call in to them, saying something like, Guy is on his way out, sorry we almost killed your wife, or something.

Prompting him to call me, without being asked, and asking me, Are your legs OK?

They’re OK. Thanks for asking. And thank God it wasn’t one of the kids.

2 Comments
1. edj says: I wanted to say something witty, but really, I’m just so glad you’re ok! But I have to say, will you stop at nothing to get your floor finished?

2. Heather says: Dang! I am so glad you are ok! And thank God and the Baby Jesus that it was not one of the kids although I certainly would have preferred not you either! Oh, and the whole Jefferson cluster thing just makes me throw up my hands in the air *what-are-they-thinking*! — Hugs, Heather

So many things I would like to blog about — such as…

* the PTA mom who said, “Good, do!” in our meeting today when I said, “one-more-thing-and-I’ll-shut-up-I-promise.” Nice! Way to open up the lines of communication. No wonder no one wants to work with you, honey. Damn. Speaking of work — THE PAID KIND…

* Work: Why It Just Might Be the Answer I’ve Been Looking For (lunches out with other adults! No one criticizing my food! People complimenting my shoes! The list goes on and on…) (more…)

Do you love Portland, Oregon? I do not.

For my Thursday Thirteen, and for my husband, I present:

THIRTEEN REASONS PORTLAND IS LOUSY

1. Lousy rain. Nine months out of the year it rains. That’s as if, say, you got pregnant and it RAINED THE ENTIRE TIME. Now do you see what I mean? No wonder snow looks appealing to me. (I hear a chorus of voices chanting, “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.” To you I say, cheerily, “Stay dry!”)

2. Lousy mold and mildew that go hand-in-hand with rain. Lousy bronchitis, asthma and sinus problems that go hand-in-hand with mold and mildew.

3. Lousy schools because of lousy tax structure/property tax fiascos.

4. Lousy lack of American Girl shops. (Wacky Girl’s complaint. She has already mentioned — several times — that Chicago has an American Girl shop. FYI. Cuz Iowa City is three hours from Chicago.) Also, lousy lack of kids on our block, and for several blocks around us. Also, lousy school transfer system that makes it super-easy to transfer out of your neighborhood school (we did). Thus, none of the neighborhood kids know each other, because no one goes to school together.

5. Lousy idiots: Libertarians (“The government needs to cut the fat!”), Republicans (“Fewer taxes for big business = Oregon Good!”), Democrats (“Oh. Geez. No, I don’t want to make anyone mad by asking for, uh, anything. I’ll just shut up now.”), Stinkin’ Dirty Hippies (“If you and Hockey God? Want to have kids? That’s cool and all, but I don’t think I should have to, y’know, pay for them with my taxes? I mean, I’m cool! It’s all good, right? It’s not that I don’t like kids…”), Stinkin’ Oregon Trail Pioneers (who didn’t actually COME OUT HERE ON THE OREGON TRAIL, MIND YOU, but act as if they did, thus: “My family pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and I don’t see why I should goddamn help you just because you can’t figure out how to find your ass with both hands.”)

6. Lousy lack of air-conditioning in most houses and numerous buildings here. People, it is true that in the “olden days” it was only warm here two or three days a year, but summers are frickin’ hot now. Once the monsoon season is over, that is.

7. Lousy frickin’ drug houses, frickin’ off-leash pitbulls, shepherds, boxers and various other breeds of dogs, frickin’ idiots who won’t stop meth production and leash their dogs. (Which is of more importance to me? I do not know. They both bug me equally. Both bite.)

8. Lousy service in every restaurant in town, except for a handful of the high-end places.

9. Lousy drivers and lousy, horrible traffic.

10. Lousy expensive houses. (Really shouldn’t include this one, because I want to cash out and blow. So I say, “Expensive houses good! Give me some money!”)

11. Lousy ocean that is too cold to swim in. Lousy traffic from the lousy casinos, to and from the coast. Lousy car wrecks up and down coast highway.

12. Lousy general lack of community and caring. Believe it or not, I am seen as one of the more caring members of our community. Yeah, I thought that was funny, too.

13. Lousy history of racism that goes back decades and continues here to this day, although people try to hush it up. Have had it with Portland.

Dear Internet,

I’m on a mission. It’s political. It’s messy. It possibly involves the purchase of two or three large inflatable toys. I cannot discuss it here, for reasons of neighborhood and possibly national security, but if you live in Portland, Ore., and are a musician, artist, gardener, or just a person who wants to get involved, e me and we’ll talk.

Vague enough? Intriguing enough? Also I think I’m going to need help from both the No War Drum Corps and the Nation of Islam on this one.

Ciao,

WM

PS — How about some recipes? With all this political organizing, we have little time for cooking around here. Thus, three fast ones…

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If you’re wondering where I am today, read this. It’s from April 26, 2005, but it’s still the same old shit. Don’t be a Bad Samaritan.

More tomorrow.

Yours as always,

WM

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Portland has lost an incredible community member and activist. From the Neighborhood Schools Alliance:

“Our beloved friend, Sheila Rae Brown, passed away Jan. 17, 2007. Sheila was a community organizer with Neighborhood Schools Alliance, and an NSA Steering Committee member. She was a member of Jefferson High School PTSA, a longtime SMART Reader volunteer at Irvington Elementary School, and an active member of the Irvington Neighborhood Association.”

She was lovingly described by a member of NSA as “a model of an engaged, outraged, civilized citizen.”

We can all try to live up to that example. Rest in peace, Sheila. We’ll miss you.

Wacky Girl, Wacky Boy and I are all grouchy. Thanks for asking! I mean — like ready to smack each other grouchy. I. Hate. The. End. Of. The. School Year. So there.

WB: “No, no, NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

WG: “I did not say that was OK! I did NOT!”

Me, to Hockey God: “No, I am not as excited about the Stanley Cup as you are.”

HG: “What is wrong with you guys?”

Wacky Cats: “Meooooooow, hissssssssssssssssssss!”

Wacky Dog: “Bowooooooooooooo…” (bayful mourn)

Thus I have come up with the 20 Top Ways the Wackies are Planning to Have Fun This Summer:

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More education stories in the paper today, about how the state has more money than they thought. No, not really, cuz there is even less money now for schools. (Well, which is it?) More teachers will need to be fired. The school year will be shorter. But the district is hiring seven people to do PR and “communicate.” So they apparently have the money for that. I cannot communicate well about any of this. I guess I wouldn’t deserve one of their $100,000 + a year jobs, since i am unable to communicate about this subject that is so near to my heart.

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