Drama: This is the song that doesn’t end…

Entry 05/21/2012 10:13:32 AM – Mentat 645

*takes a deep breath* My roommate (now known as “Mr. Dead-to-Me”) might be out of my hair since the last journal entry, but there seems to be no end to the sort of drama that he creates within the tranquility of the homestead. Take for example toward the end of the week last week. I woke up Friday morning to find a note on the door to the bathroom that the toilet had been broken and that he had called/texted the landlord earlier in the evening (more like the dead of the morning) that he had been informed of it being broken.

So, during the morning, I do a little investigating to see what had broken, suspecting that in his drunken stupor it was something simple enough for me to fix myself, and then contacting the landlord that his services weren’t necessary. Turns out though what Mr. Dead-to-Me did was break off a part of the feed to the ring on the base of the toilet. This was a 2-piece toilet that the tank is one part, and the base the other. It was broken at the point where the right side bolt connects the tank to the base.

It didn’t take much brain power to realize that the only way this could’ve happened was that Mr. Dead-to-Me had banged/bashed into the tank just hard enough to break the connector. Further it was just enough of a break that the feed to the ring on the base of the toilet was opened and that anytime one flushed the toilet, water would leak out and onto the floor.

Sighing, I left the call in place with the landlord and waited patiently for him to show up.

The landlord showed up about 3 – 4 PM with caulk in hand, and wanted to look into the problem.

The landlord got one look at the broken fragment and the location on the toilet it had broken off from and came to the same conclusion: that the only way that the toilet could’ve broken off was by him seriously banging into the toilet’s tank.

Mr. Dead-to-Me feigned shock and insult at the accusation.

The landlord smiled and nodded and said, “Well you were more than a little tipsy when you called last night, Mark.” Then the landlord looked at me and asked, “Do you have any idea what Mark was talking about when he talked about the bathtub?” He ignored Mark the entire time.

I shrugged my shoulders, put my hands up in surrender and said, “your guess is as good as mine.”

Turns out that instead of telling the landlord to show up when he could, Mr. Dead-to-Me rambled like he can only do about his pipe-dream about getting the old cast-iron tub removed (because he finds it so difficult to get into because of his gout) and to save space, suggested a single shower stall be put in, instead.

The landlord smiled and nodded in that patronizing way toward Mr. Dead-to-Me and informed him of all the issues (most of all costs) of costs and time for this to get done. Of course the subtlety of how he was telling us was not missed on me. The entire time that he was talking about costs and time he was telling me, completely ignoring Mr. Dead-to-Me in the process. Right down to the fact that Mr. Dead-to-Me made comments about how he’s a plumber in his drunken rant at 2 in the morning to the landlord and how the landlord says that here in the state of Rhode Island, everyone knows how to do everything.

I smiled and nodded and simply stated, “I know politics and how to play them. Anything that involves building and renovations, I leave to professionals,” and went on to state, “I rather like the claw-foot tub, even if I don’t take a bath in it and have no problem really with the way the bathroom is laid out.”

So out went the landlord with smile and the promise to return with the proper sealant and adhesive.

Half-hour later, he returned and explained that the sealant that he acquired would take a couple of hours to dry and warned to leave alone for at least a day for it to completely seal.

I assured him that we’d use the toilet without flushing and would use the “ghetto” method of flushing (by using a 4 quart pot filled with water and pouring it down the toilet as it didn’t leak that way at all.

Later that night though I confirmed that the original issue was caused by Mr. Dead-to-Me’s drunken stupors because sometime around 3 AM that night, I found myself pattering through a puddle on the floor from his pouring water down the toilet and failing miserably. I decided for the sake of quiet at the middle of the night, I wouldn’t comment at all and simply smiled to myself in ironic justification and went to bed after sopping up the puddle in the bathroom.

So the toilet’s fixed, there’s no leaking and hopefully Mr. Dead-to-Me won’t bang into the toilet, breaking off that piece or another piece of it in the process.

So a couple of weeks later as I had hoped, the pinched nerve in my shoulder’s doing better. I only feel it occasionally when I’m not sitting properly or when I over-extend myself. The exercises that the doctor gave me and the exercising I’ve been doing on a daily basis has really helped it along better than I had expected. My thumb still doesn’t quite feel right, but after calling my doctor, he tells me that this is normal as it’s something about the way the nerve got pinched. He tells me that this will pass as well — but it’ll take longer than my shoulder or the nerves in my forearm. Told me there’s nothing to worry about, even if feeling in my thumb is a bit diminished in the process.

The weather’s finally spring-like and I’ve been enjoying the walks that I take through the neighborhoods as well as cross-town (as I did last weekend). I got a chance to head over to the East Side (and Thayer St) just to see what kind of life is going on there. Surprisingly, I’ve found it to be remarkably quiet at the Brown and RISD campuses. Then again as I head back home, I passed the bulk of Brown’s campus and saw on the meeting hall’s front billboard that commencement was scheduled for this week (23 – 25, May) and realized that the underclassmen are probably done and headed home for the summer, with the graduates simply enjoying late mornings in. There were a bit more RISD classmen around the campus as I remember when I got to College Hill, I saw quite a lot of the kids out on the lawns, sunning themselves and sleeping in the warmth.

Heh, came head on with Johnson & Wales graduates at the Dunkin Donut’s Center (formerly the Providence Civic Center) as they and their families were pouring out of every door to auditorium in the caps and gowns and best dress. Commencement and Graduation Ceremonies were in full swing and found myself more than a little frustrated as folk were milling about and blocking local traffic like cows let loose on a pasture of fresh grass and hay. When I got passed the milling crowds and onto Atwells Avenue, I realized that things really hadn’t changed all that much since my roommate Rick had graduated from Johnson & Wales in the early 90s. The only difference is that I intentionally missed out on heading down to Providence for that exact reason.

Amusingly as I sit here and write this journal entry, I realize, I’ve yet to actually go into the place. Any concerts that I’ve gone to in the Tundras of New England has been at the Orpheum in Boston, the Living Room in Providence (it used to be off of Rathbone St), Foxboro Stadium and Misquamicut Beach. But never when it was the Providence Civic Center, and not since I’ve returned to the Tundras of New England. Weird that…

Also the noxious smells I’ve had to endure in my neighborhood have calmed down. While the fumes haven’t abated, it seems that one of the neighbors farther down the street had complained to the police again, and I’ve seen patrol cars at the car wash pulling out and pulling over the various flatbeds and car carriers that fly down the street to the junkyard at the end. Not only have they slowed down their mad dash down the street, but they’re also not stopping on this end to stink up the area with over-rich carburetor fumes and carbon monoxide. I still think that they should be using the Valley Street entrance to the junkyard given that most of Valley St is considered zoned commercial (rather than residential), but that they’re no longer flying down the road and not idling outside of people’s houses is certainly a plus.

I’m really beginning to like my neighbors here. Sure they pretty much keep to themselves (a good thing given the years of busy-bodies I’ve dealt with in some suburbs), and I rarely if ever see them out on the street (another plus as I often like the feeling of desolation when I step out for various reasons), on their porches or generally socializing among themselves… But they don’t put up with any of the guff that seems to go on from the businesses in the area and will snap down on them whenever they can. I’d give ’em a round of applause or even shake their hands if I were to actually see them outside.

After that… it’s been the usual calm and quiet. I’ve been talking with Glenn a lot since we reconciled. Admittedly he has a lot of issues to work through and a lot more things that he needs to come to grips with, but from my perspective it’s been pretty promising. If anything I find him to be both more open and more receptive to talking about the problems than he did when he was in his relationship with Sam. God it’s such a mess there… All I know from personal experience is that it’s going to take time, energy, effort and nurturing from family and friends to get him through most of it. I’d talk about it here — but given this also posts publicly, it’s not my place to. That’s something Glenn’s going to need to talk through — if he ever makes the decision to post any of it publicly.

Well that’s about it for the time being… Until the next time.

Picture of the Day 05.20.2012

Yesterday I took a longer walk than I had the last couple of days and decided to head on over to the East Side (of Providence) before I’d head home… and through the chaos at the Dunkin Donuts Center for Johnson & Wales’ Commencement Ceremonies. Heh, was surprisingly quiet on the East Side, in spite of the warmer than usual spring weather, but then again a lot of the students are either finishing up their classes or have finished and headed home for the summer. There were still some stragglers about, laying on the lawns and getting a bit of sun in.

This is the clock tower at Brown University which is border between the Brown and RISD campuses. Amusingly in the last couple of years, if you look above the clock, you’ll see some of the local trees have rooted in the tower and appear to be growing. Makes me wonder when the groundskeepers will get up there to clear that out given those saplings look to be about 1 – 2 years old.

Picture of the Day 05.18.2012

In spite of the age of the neighborhoods I’ve lived in here in the Tundras of New England over the years, you don’t get to see these trap-doors much anymore (as most of homes and businesses removed them and simply bricked them up): a coal chute. Actually one of two on the old Kenyon Street School (Now called the Carl G Lauro Elementary School)on Kenyon St, which is closer to the Broadway side of Federal Hill. While the coal furnaces had been replaced with oil burners in the 50s – 60s, friends that had worked in maintenance at this school told me (back in the 80s) that the doors were still workable, and are padlocked from the inside. Makes me wonder if they’re still in working order or not.

Picture of the Day 05.15.2012

They say one of the strongest triggers to a person’s memory is one’s sense of smell. This was most certainly true yesterday when I was on my way back to the house from a 2 mile (3.2 km) walk that I decided to take in the afternoon after my lunch. Out of the smells of clover that was growing in the abandoned lot across the street from the laundromat that I usually go to, I happened to have caught a whiff of something that reminded me of my childhood. In that memory was me pulling the petals off a daisy as a teenage girl would do to determine whether the boy she was eyeing “Loved me” or “Loved me not”.

In that memory of was my slowly pulling apart the yellow center of the flower to behold the geometric simplicity of the carpels (or center of the flower) and how strong the smell was both from the carpels themselves as well as the stem where they were held. So over the cinder block wall I went to take this picture.

Picture of the Day 05.14.2012

Came across this piece of graffiti artwork during another of my long-walks around the are. While this wasn’t made by the same artists that did the artwork I capture on 02.09.2012, there is a sort of similarity to the theme. Although what really caught my eye on the weird and the interesting was the girl with the red hood who’s sporting a third-eye. It’s definitely not something I would expect to see here in the Tundras of New England, given that this area is predominantly Roman-Catholic and not at all New Age. I found myself strangely amused seeing it.

Picture of the Day 05.13.2012

It’s finally feels like Spring here in the Tundras of New England and I had a ton of things to do today before mid-afternoon. One of those things was to pick up necessities for the house. On the way back I invariably have to make a quick lay-over at Kennedy Plaza) between busses.

While there, I checked out City Hall Park. Since Occupy Providence, the city has closed off the park in order for the grass to grow back. So far there’s no anticipated date when they’ll re-open the park for pedestrians and leisurely loitering, but from what you can see here, the grass and lawn have near completely recovered.

Picture of the Day 04.15.2012

Amusingly, the instant that I open the door, in comes the Mad Cat Committee™ to squat in front of me (Whiskey mainly, who’s in the background here) asking for wet food because his bowl’s been emptied. Saucy (not in the picture), in my windows to announce to the world she’s horny and needs to get laid (yes, she needs to be fixed, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay for my roommate’s cat problems). And Wilma (foreground), to stare up at me like some sort of creepy cat not sure whether she wants attention, me to go with her so she can have an audience while she eats, or to just stare at me because she can.

That is, until about a week ago, when she changed her habits just a bit…

Keep in mind Wilma is a feral. She doesn’t like being picked up by people, she’ll hiss and attack if you move too quickly in her direction (or will simply run away to hide somewhere for a couple of hours), and doesn’t want to be pet. It’s also quite the pain in the ass to clean her eyes (as they typically fill with gunk daily) as she’ll spit, hiss and smack at me if I don’t follow a specific habit: clean her eyes and then throw some kibble when I’m finished so she can chase it (as a treat).

Four months ago when I moved in, Wilma wouldn’t leave the safety under the couch in the living room. If she ate, she did so without an audience. Now? I can pat the bed and up she comes. Wilma will even put up with being pet for short periods of time from me when she’s up on the bed. Maybe in a couple of months, I’ll even have her trained. Who knows.

Picture of the Day 04.12.2012

Seeing this brings back interesting (and fond) memories.

Next door to where I used to live when I was growing up was my Uncle Basilio. In the early spring, he used to let his yard grow wild (like this) and when the dandelions would come to flower (much like this), he used to spend one afternoon pulling all the dandelion leaves from those growing in the yard to make dandelion salad.

I remember one year when we were a bit older and Uncle Basilio was a little less mean (the man was evil and as pre-teens we used to torment the daylights out of him as he used to get even with us), he invited the lot of us in after he had plucked all the dandelion leaves. “Tradition,” as Uncle Basilio said to us, “is to remind us that even in a depression, we all survived.” He told us of what it was like to come to the states (he was a naturalized American citizen), to live through the depression, and the war. While he admitted to being 4-F (unable to serve for duty), he took great pride in working at a mill that used to supply for the war effort.

We had on that spring day, dandelion salad (heavy on the garlic and rosemary as this was made in an Italian household), polenta, cabbage soup (with some yam and potato) and bread pudding. Uncle Basilio told us that meat was usually for the weekend with the whole family over and that this was for during the week. He told us he did this around Easter every year since the end of the war.

He kept up this tradition until his death (to pancreatic cancer), when I was in high school.

I might not have picked up the tradition of eating dandelions (as a teenager, I found it to be extremely bitter, but given I’ve taken to Vegemite as an adult, I don’t think I’ll have much problem with it anymore), but whenever I see dandelions like this, I think back to Uncle Basilio, on his hands and knees in the backyard, picking the leaves off the weeds and putting them in a basket or bowl to bring into the house.

Picture of the Day 04.11.2012

Yellow as a lemon. Taken before it started raining.

Picture of the Day 04.10.2012

I found this growing in the little sidewalk runner garden in the backyard of my house. So the question of the moment is:

Yellow or orange? My bet is it’s Yellow, though I’ve seen orange show like this before flowering.

We’ll see in a day or so.