AM and CS: Winding Down?

CS: Saturday, March 24
As with the week before we cleaned the Worship Church. Saturday's Community Service day yeilded no new experience, except for conversation. Toilet and floors can only be cleaned so many ways. The weather was sunny and warm, highs in the fifties according to the morning news. 7:58 am, Carl joined the work crew that gathered in front for the Broadway Junction station.

B---, the contractor from Bayridge flagged me down and gave me a friendly smile through his crooked teeth, "Hey", he nodded, drank his coffee and winked. He has a tattoo of his ex-wife and four kids on his back. A little short-sided considering he's divorced and re-married since. He lives near V----- but tries not to make a direct association because, shhhh "V-----'s a wife beater". More than being the cliche of an Italian A-cut work shirt, V----- talks way too much, and Irish and Italians don't get along by nature.

B--- shook his head at S---, the young white kid from Sheepshead Bay, and continued. "You know about poppie seeds? That's all b--- s---! You gotta eat a whole bag of that s--- to get on their radar. That stupid S.O.B. thought he could get one on the judge. Boom! Nine more months of Community Service for him." B--- was referring to random drug testing on Probation Report day. Someone in court failed a drug test and claimed it was his morning bagel.

"How about, pot, what if you were in the same room with a pot smoker." I asked. "You don't smoke?" I nodded no and pointed at my cigarette. "Well don't worry about it then, you gotta try to suck it in real hard for it to show up." "What if it's in your hair?" asked S---. "Wash it then! This isn't CSI, they're not gonna spend that kind of money on you unless you're on parole." B--- laughed at us, I guess in so many ways we are that naive. "How often do you get drug tested?" I aksed "When ever they want." The van pulled up, B--- finished his cigarette and crossed the street.

IC: Wednesday, March 22
Mr. L---- wanted to know what Carl thought of Monday night's Anger Mangement speaker on March 19. Carl said he was riveted by what he heard. Mz. N---- was a batterred woman who lead a life of drugs. She is now a self-made woman who went from being a drug addict, to becoming the head of a 501c3 for a battered woman. The "empress" who has risen from the ashes of a former life, told her personal story starting with her third divorce.

A heated conversation ignited the most volitile people in the group. A young man, R-- said that she left a good man and that he was really a functioning drug addict. He gave an example of his work mate who's been doing coke for years and always seems fine. She called him just another drug addict. His tone took a harsh turn, it would seem that R-- was talking about himself.

R-- said it was the black woman's role to keep her black man going. Mz. N----- sat straight up, took a deep breath and shook her long braids.

"If a man is putting that poison in his body, he doesn't repsect himself. That means he's disrespecting me. I am an empress and I need a king not a fool!"
"You telling me that You give up on him for that, every brother's on something? You're giving up on yourself then! You're goon awake up old and lonely!"
"I wake up every morning thanking God I saved myself! Let him rot!"

I nearly dropped my fruit cup, I was amazed and horrified at what I heard. This went on for some time, then Mr. L---- mediated it back down to a conversation and not a role-playing grudge match. But then another man spoke up, "That's why I don't date the black women, they always take us there." Then the conversation heated back up to a full boil. The meeting went into overtime. I found it disturbing to find out what some of these men really thought of women. Some of their comments made the Taliban look like a bowling league. And yes, most of these men are very verrrrrry angry. Oi, what a night.

At around 8:10 pm, Mz. N----- wanted to end the meeting with a prayer for peace, she wanted all of us to hold hands. I looked over at L---- with a strained look, shook my head, and mouth "no". He laughed covering his mouth. The group looked like a broken fence bowed in prayer. When we dispursed I handed the two Iwata's to L----. He was very excited, he now had the Cadilac of airbrushes. He took them out from their cases and held them carefully as if they were kittens. Again he said "I got no money." I told him to forget about the money. In a pretend whisper I said "But my empress wants you to make her a T-shirt that says 'Insane Cake Possie'."

Oola is an aspring baker with much talent. Carl ate about a third of her carrot cake for lunch once and went into a sugar coma. He couldn't stop at one bite.

CS: Saturday, March 18
Carl discovered that the Haitian crewmate's gold teeth were actually removable caps. They fell from his mouth as he mopped the "goodness" from the basement. He caught them with the grace and stealthiness of a ninja, not missing a sweep. At days end, Mr. B----- did personal interviews with each crew member to determine their total hours and term of probation.

"I was given 70 hours, 3 years of probation, and 12 weeks of Anger Management." Mr. B----- let out a whew sound and shook his head. "It'll all be over soon, son" he said. But will it? At this point I've missed instructor training at the Children's Garden, which means I won't be teaching this Spring. This is the first season that I will have missed in the eight years I've taught horticulture. Wow, that and not seeing my father while he was alive stings. Instead of training my apprentice and creating projects for kids I've been painting rooms, moving junk, and picking chicken bones and glass from bushes.

AM: Friday, March 17, Field Trip
Mr. L---- was out of town on vacation but we were assigned a group field trip. I got to the Anger Management office on time at 3:00 pm, but I was the only one there. The substitute councilor, Mr. M---- told me to take a seat in the lobby, I closed my eyes and took a nap. I awoke to find Mr. R------ sitting next to me. He's the older Haitian gentleman from our Monday night meetings. He uncrossed his leg and waved his cane. "Hello young sir, you look tired." I told him I was just resting my eyes, but he pointed out I was snoring. The other guy named L----, showed up, he talked about how he nearly clocked a punk on the bus on the way here.

Other than the usual allergies, Carl has breathing problems from a baseball accident. Oola says he has sleep apnea. Young Carl got slugged in the face when Leilani Shelton, the reformed Druish girl, finally hit the ball and with all her girlish enthusiasm threw the bat into the air. Carl saw stars then passed out from the pain.

Destination: "Slavery In New York" at the New York Historical Soceity. On the subway ride, I learned more about Mr. R-----. I always wondered what this older gentleman was doing with this group. But what I learned shocked me.

He told me his son came home bloody and beaten one day. He said it was over an iPod. Mr. R------ said to him "I never gave an iPod, where did you get this money?" His son confessed his involvment with a gang. Mr. R------ went to his school and reported his son's injuries and placed an inquirey. But instead, his 16 year old son lied about the gang beating and said he was beaten by his father. If he revealing his gang involvement, he would've put himself in mortal danger. That weekend the police showed up at 4:00 am and arrested Mr. R------ and placed his son in Child Custody Services (CCS). He was put away in Rikers till Tuesday afternoon and charged with endangering the wellfare of a child and domestic violence. His son was placed in foster care.

Mr. R------ reached into his jacket and unfolded a very worn piece of paper. I could barely make out the Kings County court seal. He showed me that the judge threw the case out after the course of a year. Of course the DA still insisted that this man who walks with a cane had violently attacked his child and should be punished. He now has to deal with CCS, and his son will not be home until after he has completed Anger Management, even though the case was thrown out. Mr. R------ caught the lone tear that ran from his eye and placed the court document back in his pocket.

Carl patted him on the hand and said "We don't have long, he'll be home with you soon." Carl wondered if he even belived himself, the court system seems to be a beast unknown to most men. Although he didn't recognise the DA's name, Carl wished her cancer. Not very usefull for a fifth level Cleric, one usually needs a first and last name and some hair according to the D and D players guide.

We entered through door that was labeled "Start", and walked through a very well designed multi-media exhibit. Although it was facsinating to see how New York was a Dutch slave trading post, I felt I was missing its depth (Carl is not black). I walked beside Mr. R------ through the tour as if I were walking with my father. I read to him when he couldn;t make out the signage. As we collected at the end of the exhibit, I asked him what he thought. With his thick Haitian accent he said "Its very interesting, but its for the white people. It makes them feel bad about the slavery. It makes black men feel ashamed."

Epilogue
On Saturdays I wear the worst clothes I own to do what has been mandated by court. Every week I wonder if I look as akward as I feel. As a joke Oola bought me a hair net and a stocking cap to complete my outfit: cafeteria chic? I've been told it will be over soon. My probation will span three years. Guess I'll write a book someday.

Scores on the board:
6 - 4 = 2 IC sessions
12 - 10 = 2 AM session
70 - 64 = 6 Community Service hours left... or maybe not

Another Probation Report Day

"Road to Riches" "Money, Power, Respect", "Criminal", "Get rich or die trying", "Ready to Die", "AmeriKKa's most WANTED", "Don't watch me, watch TV". These were not the new lobby signs at the probation office. These snappy phrases were printed on the jacket of the man that signed in before Carl. He put on his matching cap as he took a seat.

The female guard made me walk through the metal detector three times, I had an extra pack of cigarettes in my side pocket it turns out. She made a "tsk" sound each time that I walked through. She always makes that face; it's as if she draws her eyebrows on unevenly every morning around the large mole on her forehead. Her eyebrows tumble around on her face like two carp fighting over a peice of corn. Maybe this is a new occupational hazard: Shifty Eyebrow Syndrome.

My PO, Mr. L---, called me in. "How's the jet lag coming along, Carl?" he asked. I told him I think I've settled on Pacific Standard Time. He laughed, and said "Now you're three hours behind." He told me that his trip to China offset his sleep for about a month. That seems about right. Ver Klempt himself is still in Shanghai, he'll soon return to King County. He'll be going through the lag himself. He might bring back third world snacks with names like Monkeypaw Jerked Meat or Jellyfish Health Leather. I noticed the neighborhood blog has learned about our covert operation.

At this point in time, I no longer get up at 4:00 am looking for dinner, but I still have to take a late afternoon nap. Mr. L--- looked over my record and told me I was almost done with Anger Mangement. "Graduation Day, April 10" I said. I didn't make a crack about the diploma with the unhappy face seal. He is a nice man, but he is still "the man". Community Service is reaching it's end too, ETA three weekends. Soon I'll start teaching gardening to children in spring, my real community service job.

I posed two probation-related situations to Mr. L---. I have to plan for my father's death anniversary next year. I still miss him and think of him often. I also have a potential shot at becoming a spokesman for a series of craft DVDs (keyword is potential). He said as long as I can give him a scheduled date, neither would be a problem.

NOTE: Next Probation Report day March 28. Mid-afternoon home visit this week Thursday, March 16.

AM: Not An Angry Word Said

I took the elevator with L----, the young Puerto Rican guy with four kids. There were only five of us waiting in front of the group room, one other guy was in Individual Council. They sat around talking, I ate my soup. Well, despite making it there on time, the substitute Anger Management councilor sent us home. He said "Just sign in and go, I don't know where you're at with the program but you get credit for showing up." He left the room to look for the sign in sheet.

L---- said he was looking for a good airbrush. I told him I have two Iwata's that I don't use anymore, they just need new needles. I noticed that all eyes turned to us when I said needles. To clarify, I said he can purchase the AIRBRUSH NEEDLES at Pearl Paint for about $25 each. He said he'd like to buy the Iwatas from me but he was flat broke. He already has a dual action Badger and a 70 ppi compressor, but needs something finer for detail work.

Carl knows detail work, he went to a four year art college. He once airbrushed H.R. Geiger's Necronomicon and Frank Frazetta's Berserker onto the side of a van. It was described as a "bitchin" ride.

Since he hasn't been able to work, he's been airbrushing T-shirts and jackets for money. I don't like getting involved with anyone in the groups on a personal basis, but I do know he's been strapped for cash. I told him I'll bring it next week, he can take a look for himself. I'd rather just give it to him. I'm not a big fan of prison craft but maybe i'l ask him for a T-shirt.

We sat around and joked for about 30 minutes, then we all signed in and left. Reminder: We are meeting on Friday at the AM office at 3:00 pm. We will be going to an exhibit: "The History of Slavery in America".

Epilogue
Seems most of the guys have four or five kids with two or three different women. With exception for the MTA, a felony rap sheet will render anyone unemployable with most companies, despite rehab and training. On the other end of the spectrum, having a lot of experience can also render a seasoned pro unemployable in this day and age. I always wonder if the world will right itself. Politics and all, it is now upside down.

CS: Forgotten Garbage

It was 6:30 am, Carl dug through his laundry pile (the cleaner one) for work clothes. He woke Oola up showing her a bandana in one hand and a ski cap in the other. "El Bandito or Skater Dude, which one do you like?" She laughed. On Community Service days Carl wears clothes that he will eventually throw out. His usual CS ensemble, makes him look like a mismatched migrant worker.

Saturday, March 11
I arrived in East New York at 7:50 am and joined a group of 12 crew members that stood by the news stand. "Mr. Lee! One, two, three! Look it's Mr. Lee!" sang the Haitian man with the golden teeth. I rolled my eyes at him and unwrapped my bacon and egg sandwich. I offerred the other half to anyone who was hungry. Two people looked out for the CS van. V----, is a new crew member from Bensonhurst, "ex-wife trouble" he said. He was given 100 hours of CS. He asked me why I was stuck in CS. Not an unusual question, no one expects a Cleric to do Community Service. But I declined to answer, legal council has advised me against such discussion.

A grey, not blue, van pulled up, its windows were spray painted black. Are we seeing the affects of city cut-backs? As we filed in Mr. B----- took head count and announced that he'd need some strong men, he counted off ten and sent the rest home. V---- asked Mr. B----- where we were going. "S.I., baby" Someone in the back said "No s--t, my grandfather's f----n' burried there." Why should that be a surpirse. Everything in New York is burried on Staten Island: cars, medical waste, industrial debrit, the remains of the 911, and people.

We drove from East New York through Sheepshead Bay past Bayridge and over the Verrazzano Bridge. We wove in and out small streets and highways until we reached our destination: The Alzheimer's Foundation of Staten Island. The ranch style building was painted peptic-pink, dotted with shrub planted in-memorium. Ironically the plaques read "In Loving Memory of (name here)". We parked by a commercial moving truck, bright yellow and large. Mr. B----- said "Step out and chill for a bit, I'll be right back." We all waited in front of the truck smoking, V---- said "Crap! We gotta fill thing up?" he drives a truck for a living.

Mr. B----- and two men stepped out and looked us over. They conferred with each other jesturing with their hands. Mr. B----- shook his head "no" a few times. He walked towards us still shaking his head. "Alright gentlemen, today we have to unload five rooms of stuff and load it into this truck, carefully." Before we enterred the facility, the pungent smell of retirement home seemed to warn us of thigns to come. Five rooms were packed with furniture, bags and boxes. The hallways were cluterred with paintings, dishes, toys and loose pairs of shoes.

While loading the dolly, some artifacts would peak out from a box or bag: Snoopy snowcone maker, brightly colored sweaters, knit hats, wigs, old records, books and the like. Everthing was covered in a layer of dust and mold. We had our work cut out for us. Without much commotion, we formed two groups and moved everything from rooms to truck. We packed everything carefully until the truck was at capacity, large furniture at the back, crates, bags and boxes up front. Quality workmanship I'd say.

The truck driver locked up and told us to follow him. We trailed behind in the van for about four miles through the densely populated latino and black neighborhoods of Staten Island. The truck stopped in front of the Alzheimer's Foundation Thirft Shop. It made a three point turn and backed into the side garage's metal grate. A loud scraping sound echoed down the street. Everyone in the van yelled "Oh man!" and put their hands over their ears. We parked and got out of the van.

Mr. B----- was approached by typical denizens of the Thrift Shop world: Two very overweight women in their 60s, clad in tights and oversized sweaters, both in bad need of cut and color. Again Mr. B----- shook his head no, they looked us over with disdain and walked away stomping. "Who was that?" asked Goldie. Mr. B----- replied cracking a smile, "Those are the strippers I got for you today." "Oh man, you could lose your wallet in one of their folds!" yelled one of the crew. Mr. B----- continued "They want us to go back and unload the rest of the house, I told 'em no. You're here to serve probation, not to work till you drop." Mr. B----- is a good man.

Again we formed two teams and unloaded the truck with care. The two women made snarky comments about breaking things. We ignored them and continued to stack furniture to the back of the garage and bags and boxes to the front. When we finished, the truck pulled out and drove away. V---- asked one of the women for the bathroom, when he returned he reported "That b---h thinks we're trash, you should've seen the look she gave me." It's much worse when white people look down on other white people. Black folks expect it. Mr. B----- told us to wait by the van while he signed release papers. H-----, our West Texas boy said "I'll be back, I'm going to the store." Mr. B----- yelled "H-----, chill man, you can't be black and running down a street on Staten Island. You're on probation, remember?" S.I. is the one borough that scares me. Not for the crime, but for the fact that the townies and the cops don't like the darkies.

Epilogue
At our days end we stopped for pizza before we headed back to Brooklyn. Staten Island does have good pie. Over pizza I learned that of each crew member averages of 300 to 70 hours of CS work. The misdeanmor pleas range from weapon's and drug possession to theft. Seems that Anger Managment is standard court mandation for everyone on this crew, whether they need it or not. I have to say that so far everyone on the crew has been hard working and pretty decent.

Tonight I have Anger Management, Councilor L---- called me last week to say he made a mistake. Another councilor will take his place tonight so we must show up.

Tomorrow morning I have Probation Report Day with PO L---. V---- said that he has to report at 210 Jerolamon Street, "That's were you go when they really hate you." he said. I report to 345 Adams. I gather it's less heinious place.

I can still smell the musky odor of the Alzheimer's Foundation that settled into my work clothes. It's a dirty mix of sweaty body odor, pee, old food and carpet freshener. It's a very sad disturbing smell.

Scores on the Board:
70 - 48 = 22 Community Service hours left to serve

AM: Far and Away

Busy weekend. Gobarth was roasted on Friday, not becuase it was a death ritual for Clerics, but because he had turned 35. The Master of Ceremonies, an elvin Presley impersonator, lead personal jabs at Gobarth's character. Luckily Gobarth had a surplus of hit points and sustained minimal damage. Ver Klempt and Natzzo were seated at the deus and joined in the roasting. Ms. Vickers, Klem Matoh and Karl hid among the audeince. Actually Karl hid behind Oola when the MC started mocking their adventures. He said that the D&D adventures made Knit Night at the Dark Tower look like "Fight Club". Karl later said that he was protecting Oola from behind by "shadowing" her under his cloak. A good time was had but the collateral damage to the roasters and roastee was apparent at Olla's Oscar party the following Sunday. They blamed it on bad mead from Friday.

Sunday, February 5
I checked in on my mother on Sunday at 4:30 am EST. It was evening on Ladrone, Tara and her daughter were over for dinner, Ralph just walked in from work. My mother complained about bills and how slow everything was taking to process my father's paperwork. I took her kvetching as a healthy fighting response. I talked with all of them for about an hour. My mother has invited her friend Khar to move in since they are now both single women. Khar is Ladrone's version of Morgan Fairchild, divorced, fashion forward, and the first of my mother's friends to have had plastic surgery. She had eyelids put in. Over the years, Khar discovered the secrets of remaining eternally middle aged. I hope this is a good idea. It sounds more like a reality show called "Widow".

I tried to get back to bed, but I was already wide awake. I worked on some projects and house chores. I told Oola I'd help her with some of the Oscar party food. That evening she made a stewed lamb shank with couscous, I made a salad. Mind you, Oscar night is the gay super bowl, foraging for salad goods on this day was a task. Not a decent tomato or head of romaine to be found for miles.

Monday, February 6
I think I've recovered from the jet lag but I am a bit run down and dizzy today. There was so much to do this weekend. By around 3:10 pm I ran a temperature, was nauseus and was sweating with a stomach ache. I called councilor L---- at Anger Management and asked if I could skip tonight and make up for it on another day. He said I would have to get this pre-approved in writing from my PO, Mr. L---, just as I did with my father's funeral. In other words, he meant "No". I took some aspirin and a PB and said I'd be there. Councilor L---- reminded me that he was gone next week so I shouldn't miss tonight's lecture on AIDS, STDs and it's roots in Domenstic Violence. I dressed warmly, took Tums for good measure and caught my train.

As I pushed the elevator button at the building, D-----, yelled hold it. He jumped in and said "Hey Carl, thanks, how you doin' tonight?". Usually a genial, well spoken man, he held out his hand. I said was a little under the weather, and he withdrew and said. "Yeah I know, I woke up today and my big toe was bleeding." He made no sense to me but I smiled and nodded.

5:55 pm, I got Mr. L----'s attention, signed in took and took my usual seat by M---. He talking about how he nearly got arrested this weekend, which means he would go back to jail for a year and a half since he is already on parole.

Mr. Lamar introduced himeslf as being from an agency called FROSTD (Foundation for Research on STDs). He presented social statisitcs that show how the black community has an AIDS problem. He addressed how AIDS is spread. Shortly the conversation turned to a heated rally between blacks and and latinos. Over the course of 10 minutes it desintigrated into Haitians vs Jamaicans vs African Americans and then Puerto Ricans vs Boricurans vs Cubans, and which group does IT more with multiple partners. I glazed over and wiped the sweat from my head.

Mr. Lamar broke up the babble and asked "Do you even know what HIV stands for?" He was pointing at me. Caught off guard I said "mmm.. Immuno... Virus..." Someone else yelled out "the H is for Humano" (sounds like Cubano).

From there the topic moved to AIDS in prison and how people most comonly became infected. The answer was "Prison Tattoos"; I found that hard to believe that it wasn't prison sex. Maybe I watch way too much Public Television. He talked about the prison subculture of scaring and tattoos. I was still surprised prison sex didn't come up once. Mr. Lamar, asked "Who of us had not been to prison?" I raised my hand. Actaully, I was the only one raising my hand. He asked if I had a question. I said "No, I'm just saying that I've never been to prison." I realized that he was asking a rhetorical question.

Overall I'd say that I did learn a few new things about AIDS and HIV tonight. My awareness of STDs stopped soon after art college. The lecture ended with the topic of Domestic Violence, of course. The answer was short and simple. If one would do anything for drugs one would tend to be a more violent person. That makes sense, I guess. We didn't spend a lot of time on this part of the lecture. The evening ended with a fire drill, we filed out the door towards the stairs. Mr. L---- reminded me that I'm on the field trip list for next week, we're seeing an exhibit on the 17th on the history of slavery in America.

Epilogue
I can empathize with the group but its hard for me to relate to this topic when it is addressed from a cultural vantage point that is not mine: prison culture. But this culture is from a far away land and I am only a tourist, not a resident. I thought more about M--- nearly getting arrested. To a parolee any arrest means a year and a half in jail. He drove with a suspended license to pick up his kid, not a wise thing to do, but even the police officer didn't want to jail him for that. M--- is completing multiple DOC programs and AM. He has four kids and actually seems like a decent guy. The police officer told M--- to call some one to pick him up or drive him home and let him go with a warning.

That thought made my stomach turn even more. I stopped in a small diner for the remedy, chicken soup and gingerale, on my way to the train. I figured I should eat while I had a little appetite.

Scores on the Board:
12 - 8 = 4 AM sessions
Note: No Am next week, double session this month, graduation day on April 10

CS: A Fresh Coat of Paint

By 8:00 am a full van of people waiting for stragglers, it was 28 degrees outside. The crew members with cars parked in tandem behind the blue CS van. By 8:30 a Cuban woman in her early fifties knocked on Mr. B-----'s window. She unfolded a piece of paper with the Kings County court seal. Someone said "Who brought their mom?" It was too cold and early for dry humor, no one laughed. Mr. B----- told her she had the wrong work day. "Ay loco, disculpe... que dia para trabajo? Ala Domingo?" she asked with her hands to her chest. She was sent home. What did pequeña abuelita do to get stuck on the Community Service crew?

Weaving through traffic we arrived at the same location as last week. As we entered teh buidling you could see that another crew had primed more coats over the light switches and sockets. Someone even painted on a window. Picking at the dried primer on the door, Mr. B----- shook his head. "Today we are working with the yellow cans, get your rollers and brushes from the box, you gotta be more careful than this."

"Mr. Lee, hey Mr. Lee start on this side of the room." Mr. B----- tapped me on the shoulder. "I'm not Mr. Lee, I'm Carl." I replied as I filled my pan.

"Then who's Mr. Lee?"
"Probably the same guy named Mr. Chen?"
"Oh no man, no, I didn't mean to call you Mr. Lee like that, Carl. So who's this Mr. Chen?"
"He might be a Chinese guy, I'll ask Mr. Lee."
"So you're not Lee or Chen, then?"
"Neine! Mr. B-----, are you giving my wokr hours to some Korean guy?"

Carl is sometimes mistaken for Korean or Chinese, but never German. The men in the front room laughed out loud.

I grinned and laughed. I told him I was I just bustin' his chops. I don't think they expect humor from a Cleric. The guy cutting around the basebaord asked "So what are you?" "A former Druid from Middle Earth... now a fourth level Cleric ." I replied.

I asked about my CS hours. Mr. B----- said I'd know when it was over, I'd be notified (by mail?). I told him I started with January 7 work crew. He said I'd only have four or five weekends left. The crew traded cutting and rolling. This year's Institutional Yellow is last year's Safflower. The room looked like we were all standing in a large omelette, it made me a bit hungry. I thought about getting a sandwich and coffee on the way home. My appetite was finally returning to Eastern Standard Time. Another coat of paint and two cigarette breaks later we were done.

So who is Mr. Chen?

Scores on the Board:
70 - 40 = 30 Community Service hours

IC: On Borrowed Fumes

On Tuesday morning, February 28, I had my report day with my PO. The woman at the desk yelled "Sign in here!" and made a tsk sound. Sometimes she isn't that pleasant. At around 9:20 am, Mr. L--- entered the lobby, looked around and called me from the sign in sheet. "Carl?" He quizzed. He said he didn't recognize me at first. It wasn't my tan, it my the cleric robe. "Winter wear, fourth level Cleric." I said. I followed him down the hallway.

He asked how everything went. I said "As good as family and funerals could possibly go." I gave him my round trip itinerary and my father's death certificate to copy. I didn't ask about going back to Middle Earth for the death anniversary. I was still a bit sensitive about the situation at hand. Instead we talked about how long the flight was and how long I might be jet-lagged. Our meeting was short, my next report day is March 14. He informed me that now that we are passed the first month, I will report to him only twice a month with one home visit. By June I'll just walk in to scan my hand for next two and half years. I supppose I should celebrate that milestone by cleaning my apartment. Maybe it's the jet lag, but it all felt the same to me. I scratched my chin and realized I hadn't shaved. What the hell did I look like?

Wednesday, March 1: I C
9:05 am, I was late for my Anger Management, Individual Council. Still lagged, I slept through my alarm clock. I ran to the phone to call AM Councilor, Mr. L----. "I'm leaving now! I'll be there in about 25 minutes!" he told me to calm down, he's not going anywhere. I threw on a sweater, made sure I was wearing matching shoes and bolted down the stairs to the subway. Then I ran back upstairs because I left my wallet and then ran back down to the subway again. The mouthwash was still burning my gums. What a bad time to quit smoking. I felt like I brushed my mouth with a pack of Kools. I never know what to say at these IC sessions. Maybe it's his job, but Mr. L---- always ends each meeting by saying "Well, you're here for a reason." I've learned to just nod and take my mind elsewhere, ala "Brazil".

But on this day a little light peeked into Mr. L----'s cubicle. He wanted to know how I felt about my father passing away. Instead I said it was rediculous that I would have had a harder time seeing him alive than dead by way to the court system. I said I was angry about that. So there, I finally I gave him what he wanted, an admission of anger. Instead of saying "You see!" he said "Carl, you know I can't see you getting into a bar fight."

Was this a test?? Did he actaully read that mountain of crap that is my court case? Am I no longer just an angry case number?

"I don't think you belong in this program."
"Oh please, don't make me start a new program over, we only have 5 weeks left."
"I'm not gonna do that. I just can't see you starting a fight."

He wanted to know what happenned to me that night. I told him about being harassed over my seat and my freind's seat and how it lead to a scuffle, "No punches were thrown." He nodded as he listened.

"I'm broke, I spent thousands on legal fees. I've lost two major clients with court dates shuffling around. But wasn't that the court's stragey? Bleed me?" I blathered on about why I took a plea with my hands talking, Bill Clinton style. But I left out the part about wishing cancer every morning on that crack-whore complainant, her gay-boyfriend witness, the judge, and the DA. I told him about Dark Tower, it's just a nice old tavern with opera on Thurday nights. I said "It's not like the bar scene from Serpico." He laughed he said he knew the tavern well.
"Isn't it rediculous, to take a plea I have to admit to something I didn't do, and take a convenient punishment. Now I can't use any of my witnesses or evidence in Civil Court. They got me good, didn't they. My reason for being here states: Mandated by Court, not Shot a Man in the Eye over Crack." I wiped the white spittle from the corners of my mouth and sat back down. I didn't realize I was standing. He said he'd never seen my so animated.

Mr. L---- asked if I could share this with the group, I said I can't while I have a Civil Case pending, statute of three years from filing date. Legal Council has advised me as such. He said the guys can benefit from hearing my story, a lot of them took Felony Pleas becuase they had no choice. He explained that M-------- was falsley accused of beating his wife, but he had to take a plea so that his kids would not be taken away by the state. Ouch! I declined again.

He reminded me that I have to participate with the group somehow, I still have to fulfill this criterium. It's my missing quad on his angry grid. I said I'm open to suggestion but I have legal limits as to what I can share with anyone.

Epilogue
It's best that the Criminal Court system isn't responsible for cancer research. They would glady find the wrong cause just to say that research was completed with satisfaction. They'd arrest the wrong symptom, jail it and let the real diseases run free. The way my case was handled was more like origami. It was folded and twisted into something with triangular wings and a tail, and the court held it up proudly called it a crane.

I'm surprised about this week's IC session, but I did pose a rhetorical question to Councilor L----. "When the judge finds out that I'm not pathologically angry and I'm not a drug addict, what will he do with this information?" He replied "Don't know, that's up to the courts." I'm out of gas. I could be angrier but I'd need to do this on borrowed fumes.

* Sleepless at the Dark Tower

In one of my jet lagged stupers, I wandered over the Dark Tower for a drink to trick myself into sleeping. It was around 3:00 am, the silhouttes of a couple danced by the jukebox. The tavern keeper was trying to set a new record for 48 hours of non-stop drinking. He waved at me and said "Cleric!" and then rested his head back down near his glass. There seated in the middle of the bar were Ver Klempt and Klem Matoh, they were counting gold coins. Gobarth got their attention for me. They saw me and lifted their glasses. From the loot and their boyish grins I gathered that the last adventure was successful. Not like that time I was killed by giant ants. Sheeesh. I inquired about the last adventure in Kings County.

Ver Klempt's eyes grew wide with excitement and smoothed out a well worn map. He demonstrated the secret location with the point of his dagger.
"Klem Matoh put dozens of Orcs to sleep and magically blasted slavers with numerous his magic missiles at the mouth of the cave. Over here, Gorbath magically jumped a deep chasm, crushing the Orc shaman and smiting the assassins that prowled us. From here, Vickers beheaded Cave Ogres and dispatched countless Orcs, slavers, and giant trolls! From behind her Ah Ro Ghant wielded his Sword of Sharpness and severed Apsi limbs and Orc appendages galore. Natzzo caught arrows in mid-flight, using his sweet bow skills to our advantage. Then from above, Klem Matoh's psuedo dragon, Shmaug, stung a large Apsis in the back of the head exploding it with its sweet poisoned stinger."

With his arms waving wildly he jumped from his seat. Gold coins and jewels spilled from his thieving sleeves bouncing on the floor. "And then finally I, Ver Klempt the Theif, turned invisible and stabbed the Orc chief through his chest. Just look at all this loot we won! If you only you were there, Carl!" The bar keep raised his head and screamed "I'm rich!" at the cash register, then put his head back down.

Wiping the spray of beer from my face with my sleeve I said "Yes if I'd only been there I might have silenced and counteracted the spells from evil magicians, or at least brought bar peanuts along with me." I brandished a freshly opened can of nuts, we all partook in snacking. "So I heard Vickers is mad at you, Ver Klempt." Gobarth held a finger to his lips, pantomiming a shush sound.

"Well, she got her hit points mixed up again. You know how she get's with a few drinks in her. Somehow she had hundreds HP more. I called her stupid and she got up in my face and yelled at me, grabbed her coat and sword, and then left." said the theif. "You also thumped her on the head with a pencil, V." added Gobarth. "Yep, but was just for dramatic effect. What's her problem?" Ver Klempt resumed his seat.

"Are we getting a new adventure togehter soon?" I asked. "Dunno yet, I'm leaving for Shanghai on Saturday." said Verklempt. "I hear the food's good." Gobarth added as he licked the salt from the bottom of the tin and the lid.

I missed the gang. I missed Brooklyn. Mainland news is hard to come by on the other side of the world. People there worry about Avian Flu and Korean/Chinese politics more than, Orcs, treasure or Dick Cheney shooting a man in the face. At around 4:00 the bar keep locked the door and shut off the Bud light in the window. It made a loud zap sound. I don't recall how much longer I stayed but as I walked back home the sun began to rise.