Scraping the Bottom

Got a second call from my attorney last night (Thursday.) It appears T, L or C called their freebie Farmers Insurance Company attorney (Why is Farmer's Insurance still hanging with these losers?) to tell him, Mark D. McCauley, Esq., about the criminal complaint I filed on them Wednesday night. Of course, because this commercial insurance attorney, and his employer, and their one giant client, have NO interest in defending criminal policyholders, he called my attorney to emphatically renew his commitment to speedily settle the civil suit, even if the defendants are pissed off about it. (Ohhh... I can see contempt of court charges already!) That's why my attorney called me.

Now that the two attorneys and I are singing from the same page of the hymnbook, all that remains is to beg  persuade  cajole  bribe  convince  tell  order  force  have the civil case defendants sign onto the Stipulated Judgment.

All of which precedes the fact that Lynda Allen is losing control. The most predictable thing about "control freaks" is that when they lose the ability to control the people around them, they freak out and revert to childish and asinine antics - or adult temper tantrums - in pathetic attempts to regain even "negative" control.

The previous post showed that despite the P.C. 415 citation she received hours before, she still turned on the yard radio yesterday morning...

... and again this morning. (Keep diggin', baby! Let's see how deep a hole you want to dig for yourself.) Banging around in the yard for an hour before, at 7:04 a.m. Lynda, still in her robe and slippers, shuffled from house to outbuilding and turned on the radio. On the way back to the house, however, she stepped in something - probably dog shit! - and tried scraping it off before going in. The incident prompted me to recall the "too many dogs" complaint and the chicken they allow loose on the property.

... and it reawakened a memory of something I read in their Health Department files almost two years ago. (Ahhh, yes... here it is.)

No wonder they were shoeless! Which is worse, a slap on the hands (or feet) for shoelessness, or losing your Health Department certificate (which shuts down your catering truck) because of whatever! on the bottom of your shoes?

The complaint, above, inspired a new name for the trio next door. Since they no longer operate TLC Catering, their new name is:

BAREFOOT DIRTY GIRLS!

Anybody wanna buy some catering trucks? See pictures of them at the end of this post.
(But remember to have them thoroughly cleaned [by professionals] before their first use.)

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The Pimples are Ready for Popping

• A particularly noxious Witches Brew has been mulling for twenty-three years at 810 Fishback Street in Manteca, California.
• Since March 2007, the acrid fumes of dismissive arrogance, open hostility and sub rosa vindictiveness have streamed over the property line fence, suffocating me, as the occult admixture heated up to a simmer.
• Last night (Wednesday) the putrifying glop came to a rollicking boil, with the gas-filled bubbles splattering venom everywhere as they popped.
• Last night a citizen's arrest of Lynda Allen was made and a citation for disturbing the peace was issued to her by the Manteca Police Department (MPD). A court appearance will be forthcoming.

Backing up a couple days...

On Monday night the neighbors were visited by an MPD officer, as reported here. Lynda said "nice" things while dealing with the police, but desperately wanted to lop my head off after they left.

Despite the visit, Lynda again turned ON the yard radio Tuesday morning at 7:00 a.m., but did turn it OFF at 8:00 p.m., with some grumbling. (Lessons learned? Hah!)

On Wednesday, Lynda - herself, personally - turned the radio ON at 7:00 a.m. Thirteen hours later:

• 8:00 p.m. - After its all-day noise, in the late, darkening twilight, the radio was still ON. Not a soul stirred in the yard and the house lights appeared to be off.
• 8:15 p.m. - The house and yard lights came on.
• 8:17 p.m. - Corky Greene appeared, yawning, as she crossed to the outbuilding, but returned to the house without shutting OFF the radio.
• 8:18 p.m. - One minute later, Corky again did a round trip without shutting OFF the radio.
• 9:30 p.m. - I called the Manteca Police and requested to sign a disturbing the peace complaint.
• 9:59 p.m. - The next, and final, appearance of one of the three in the yard to shut OFF the radio.
• 10:10 p.m. - Police officer arrives. Two short police visits with neighbors, three short visits with me over the next twenty-five minutes.
• 10:35 p.m. - Wednesday night finally closes.

Interesting comments by the officer regarding this visit:

• "I don't know what you guys have going on between the two of you - and I don't want to know." (You and me both!)
• "I talked with her for ten seconds and I was already done talking to her." (I feel you pain, brother.)
• "She said she'll turn it (the radio) back on tomorrow." (And she did. She was in the outbuilding way early, side window open, probably smoking something, waiting for the stroke of 7:00. She turned ON the radio [actually, she turns on everything... and everyone...  :-) ], then came around the corner and stood for a few seconds facing her crap fence with its height extenders, displayed a huge shit-eating grin as if to say, "Screw you," before returning to the radio and spinning the volume knob UP for a few seconds. She probably thought I might be sleeping after the late night escapades.)
• "She was not very receptive to anything I had to say." (Don't take it personally. She deals with everyone that way.)
• When I told the officer I had been patient with her for a long time, but I had now lost my patience, he said, "I lost my patience in two minutes."

Lynda's / Theresa's / Corky's excuses:

1. I play it all day all the time. (Since June 2009, genius, when the speaker appeared right after you were served the civil lawsuit for noise nuisance.)
2. I'm legal within the city's noise ordinance time limits. (Um, check again, babe. So you don't have to bust a brain cell finding it, here it is, below. Have someone read it to you. Ordinance 1374, Section 9.52.040, subsection A. - the city law since December 5, 2007. But remember your legal training; municipal code is superceded by state law, in this case the California Penal Code, Section 415, if the use (radio) has no communication value and the purpose is to annoy another.)

3. It's an outdoor speaker so I can play it in the (rain / dark / cold / bathrobe and slippers.)
4. I like to listen to music while I'm working in the yard (in the rain / dark / cold / bathrobe and slippers? Buy an iPod, duh...)
5. I can do whatever I want on my property. (As long as you do not export your noise to other people's properties.)
6. I stopped running the icemaker - what MORE does that f******, freaky neighbor want? (see here)
7. HE's harrassing US by calling the police all the time! - Waaahh! (Hey, I'm not the one who has scammed everyone and screwed up everything for the last twenty-three years. Here's your sign... Compliance Brings Peace.)

My attorney called this morning:

We discussed the civil case's Defendants' total silence (I love the sound of that!) regarding the proposed Stipulated Judgment and the next discovery actions held in temporary abeyance.

"God-Awful Choice of Music?"

A funny thing happened at work today. As I made my rounds, it became apparent that something was in the air - something wrong. Same people, different day, but something wasn't quite right.

Finally, the office manager asked me about the Muzak program. "Who made this choice of god-awful music?" Suddenly, I could hear the problem. Whatever it was that Muzak was serving up today was too loud and it DID sound pretty bad... but strangely familiar. The first and only answer I could give her was simply, "My neighbors."

Have you never seen coffee sprayed from someone's nose? Clutching herself, I thought she was going to have a coronary event right there at her desk.

She eventually recovered... and someone turned down the god-awful Muzak.

Where do I send my TLC music service cancellation request?
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A Couple of Her Brain Cells Still Work (Almost)

It is still uncertain exactly what T, L & C smoke out in their outbuilding, but whatever it is it sure puffs up Lynda's sense of self-importance and gives her verbal diarreah.

(Really? More than her normal, over-inflated self-centeredness and compulsion to "share" herself with on everyone?)

T, L & C sat around all day yesterday, supervising some guy digging, hauling, pounding, and sawing stuff (Oh, no! More illegal construction?). When he left at 7:45 p.m. in his red Chevrolet van, with the silver diamond on the hood trailing into silver stripes along the sides, the sidewalk superintendents holed up and burned up a few... ah... brain cells. Of course, the yard radio is outside, and had been on since 6:58 a.m., and was still ON at 9:30 p.m. - 14 and 1/2 hours later - while they are inside having their smoke-off.

Having "enjoyed" enough of the TLC serenade - in the morning - at noontime - all evening - I called the Manteca Police Department to come witness this unusual _e_l_o_n_g_a_t_i_o_n_ of the musical day. Alas, prior to the arrival of the police, the befuzzled celebrants emerged from their smoke-filled den at 9:53, hollered something that sounded like "This is just beginning", turned off the radio at 9:55 p.m. (15 hours), wished a good night to someone they called "Dick", and turned off their yard lights.

The two police vehicles drove up at 9:58. (Ever since Lynda "lit into" Officer Mike on his first visit, a backup is now required for dealing with her.) I reported the timing and duration of the radio nuisance and that the neighbors had just turned in. One officer shrugged and said, "We'll wake them up if we need to," and they went to speak with the Trinity's spokesmouth. A short front porch conversation ensued.

Afterward, as the officers reached the sidewalk, again Lynda's needy, greedy self demanded that she ingratiate herself, so she hollered out, "Have a nice night." (Notice, she did not call them by given names this time.) The officers were only halfway to their vehicles across the street when something from the shallow end of her shallow logic pool compelled Lynda to shout out, "Is there a limit to the number of calls? Thirty?" The officers stopped... and turned... The Ice Queen hastily stammered out, "I'm just jokin' " and another "Have a good night," trying vigorously in her redneck way to wave away the icy chill generated by her incredibly crass inquiry.

The officers pulled a U-turn and I met with one by my driveway. He reported my neighbor now believes 10:00 p.m. to be the "legal" cut-off time for the radio. (Now she's suddenly a noise ordinance expert? If so, what does it say about 7:00 a.m.?)  [Well, I'll be damned! It says 8:00 a.m.] The officer tried unsuccessfully to introduce to the benighted woman the simple concept that the big-hands-and-little-hands-o'clock do not apply to something that causes a disturbance of the peace. I told the officer that was the direction I was going and we parted.

Walking back to my lighted front porch, I was confronted by the hissing, venomous hellcat herself - the Generalissimo in bathrobe and slippers on her lawn. Her dirty gray dishrag hair flipped back and forth while her jawbone opened and shut. As I got closer, the half-choked burbling directed by her fully-cooked brain resolved into a reprise from twenty minutes earlier of, "This is just beginning... from now on it's ALL day, EVERY day!" (Holy crap! That sounds just like, " 'Well, bring him on!' says Pearl," in that inimitable, scratchy Shel Silverstein voice from his reefer ballad, The Smoke-Off.) I walked and looked at her, wordlessly. She repeated herself. I repeated my silence and my footsteps. She forced one of her bone-chilling laughs out of her oral orifice while I entered my house and closed the door. I thought, 'The only time expansion of the nuisance left to her is their former bedtime to 10:00 p.m. What was the real substance of her threat? Whatever it is... Bring It ON!'

The night finally closed around 10:25.

This morning opened early, about 6:55 a.m., when Lynda, with the same dirty gray dishrag hair, the same bathrobe and slippers, the newly revitalized, five-minutes-early Lynda, pops out of her door and shuffles over to the outbuilding to turn on the outdoor radio. But at the door something stops her... In an awesome, flashing moment of realization, a couple brain cells fire off! She turns around and re-shuffles back, leaving off her daily rape of Nature's sounds.

Sweet Lord Almighty! Like the Grinch, who's heart grew three sizes that magical Suess-Christmas morning, did Lynda's brain recover a few precious neural pathways overnight? The answer came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!

The answer came at 7:15a.m. when the radio came ON. Not just a pretty face, Lynda has a brain cell (or two) in her head. Caught by the police a second time last night in her bathrobe and shuffly slippers, this time she was not going to chance her neighbor calling them for the thirty-first time while she was dressed that way. (Besides, she really needed to use that most useful porcelain invention promoted and improved by Thomas Crapper because she was... how do you say?... full of s**t?)

So, here are the lessons my dimly-endowed neighbors may have learned:

#1 - Go #1 in the morning.
#2 - Go #2, too.
#3 - Wash your hands (and mouth) with soap every time you do #1 or #2.
#4 - Get dressed before you screw up because you will be visited when you screw up.

(Let's see how many repetitions it takes for T, L & C to get pot**-trained...)
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Mother Nature's Gentle Song

An April storm in California's Central Valley takes me back to my youth in the East Bay Area, where years of pedaling an Oakland Tribune paper route allowed me to truly appreciate the pleasures of a Spring rain.

• It was warm. On route, heavy coats and raingear were never necessary; indeed, such items were too hot for the riding and got in the way of throwing the papers. Light jackets soaked through to the skin, but who cared? Riding in the rain for an hour, getting home and changing into dry clothes was part of the job's rewards. Rain water was good, clean fun.
• It was quiet. A long time before multi-lane freeways and torturous 5:00 a.m. commutes into the congested Bay Area, the early morning streets were empty of cars and peaceful. Pre-sunrise showers kept the birds still and quiet. The bike's tires made small splashing sounds and plastic-wrapped newspapers made satisfying little "plops" as they landed (almost always where I aimed them!) The cloudy, rainy air deadened any other sounds.
• It smelled great. Pavement, dirt, lawns and trees gave off the most wonderful aromas when moistened by naturally distilled water. To this day, wet eucalyptus trees and wet desert sage brush evoke sensory memories of those daily quiet hours.

Mother Nature's gentle song was mine to savor again this morning. The bedroom window was open during the night as the rains swept the town, cleaning the air, playing softly on the leaves outside and dripping from the eaves to the ground below. The pre-dawn patter was a soporific*. At dawn, the rains slackened and I was sorry; then it started up again and I was glad. An occasional bird twitter was heard. It was immensely difficult to stir from the rain-induced dream state.

For the first time in a long time, my morning hours were undisturbed by the touchy**, caterwauling*** hellcats**** next door. (Did they head off to Sacramento again?)

{sigh} Too bad it doesn't rain every morning.
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* soporific (adj.)
1. Inducing or tending to induce sleep.
2. Drowsy.

(n.)
A drug or other substance that induces sleep; a hypnotic.
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** touchy (adj.)
1. Tending to take offense with slight cause; oversensitive.
2. Requiring special tact or skill in handling; a touchy situation.
3. Easily ignited; flammable.
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*** caterwaul (intr.v.)
1. To cry or screech like a cat in heat.
2. To make a shrill, discordant sound.
3. To have a noisy argument.

(n.)
A shrill, discordant sound.

[Middle English *caterwawlen : *cater, tomcat; akin to Low German kater + wawlen, wrawlen, to yowl (ultimately of imitative origin).]
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**** hellcat (n., informal)
1. a. A woman regarded as bad-tempered and evil; b. a woman who practices sorcery; a witch.
2. A person who torments others.

Tactical Retreat as a Strategic Offense

A whole week went by with the yard radio magic rock speaker turned away from my house and the volume set really low - until this morning.

The night and morning temperatures were pleasant enough to sleep with the bedroom window open - until 7:07 this morning. Upon being assaulted yet again by the act of Lynda, Theresa or Corky manually turning on the yard radio, I slammed my window shut. One of the Trinity gleefully added injury to injury by increasing the volume and turning the speaker my direction again.

Do they think to "hide" by waiting until no one (in authority) appears to be watching (or, listening) before turning it back up? Please forgive my suspicion and skepticism, but factoring in their history of deceit, lying, abrasiveness, intimidating, and outright scoffing at laws their one-week retreat convinces me this scaled back low-level harrassment is merely a ploy to "fly under the radar" for a while.

For the first five or six years of T, L & C's illegal operation on 810 Fishback St, their tactic of "laying low" - not calling attention to themselves - was mainly how they evaded detection and regulation by the City of Manteca. This period also established the "long time on the property" argument, which they parlayed into the "grandfathered from the county" lie that they successfully perpetrated on the Manteca Planning Department to obtain their "free pass."

Too bad for them I have recordings and photographs of the yard radio, and police reports of their malicious usages of it, which establish their cagey, cynical dealings in this matter.

More proof that T, L or C get their little rock off deliberately? Same day; lunch time; speaker turned completely away (can't see the little circle on the front.) And, never fear, the very next time the magic rock senses any disturbance in the Force, it will come spinning back around into offensive position.

Keep the really good, noisy stuff coming, ladies.


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p.s. Everyone knows the old saying, "Owners tend to look like their dogs and their rock speakers."

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The Division and Rationale of D.J. Duties

The same regimentation that existed during TLC Catering's reign of terror is still displayed every day in the disc jockey duties:

1. Supreme Generalissimo Allen commands the rights of primogeniture*, reserving to herself the sexual rush of noisily broadcasting her spoor into the morning air;
2. Leftenant Brassey, the good soldier she is, fills in on the days, like Tuesday, April 6th, when Supreme Generalissimo is physically absent (every day mentally absent) or stove up;
3. Grunt Greene falls into the tertiary position - and laggardly performs the sickening act of turning OFF the radio in the evening (wrong endocrine secretions in that job.)

I posted the below here:

"As punctual as an alarm clock going off at 7:00 a.m. every morning, Lynda pops out her door in robe and slippers and shuffles quickly over to the outbuilding to turn on the yard radio. Loud, but not too loud. On her way back, a glance over her right shoulder to ensure the speaker is pointed my direction. When it's not, she's barely tall enough to reach up high with both hands and reposition it according to her purpose. Then she retreats back indoors, leaving the Mega 100.1 FM (KQOD, Stockton) morning show blaring for my enjoyment."

Things go on exactly the same morning after morning (except Lynda was two minutes early, 6:58 a.m., the other day) - same robe, same slippers, shuffle, volume, over the shoulder glance at the speaker, same hasty retreat back indoors.

 

I work all day in an office with Muzak (c) service and expect residential quietness before and after work. (When I want music at home, I'll put on something I like.) My neighbors, however are delivering to me a disservice - Muzak (c) at home - except I didn't order it, don't want it, will not pay for it, but cannot turn it off, let alone change the channel or control the volume.

• T, L & C thought (with their limited brain cells) to use musical noise to mask the "squeaks and squeals of loud, frightening contraptions" - the icemaker, vendor delivery trucks, catering trucks, and the hour-long ice bucket brigade - except the radio just added to the din.

"Muzak was created in the 1930s by General George Squier, who developed the use of military messaging technology to carry music. This new technology was particularly useful for piping music into elevators, which at the time [1930's] were loud, frightening contraptions. The soothing music helped calm elevator riders' nerves and masked the squeaks and squeals of early elevators." 

• T, L & C continue to deviate from Muzak's approach by thinking (there's that word again!) to use musical noise as a strategy to provide obtrusive and overtly perceptible cues or suggestions. In this regard they are kindred spirits to the torturers in Guantanamo Bay. 

Muzak's approach:

"It was during this time [1970's] that background music known as "Muzak songs" - rerecorded versions of classical, pop, country, and rock songs, minus the vocals - were adopted as a strategy to provide unobtrusive subliminal cues to shoppers. As the demand for original music grew throughout the 1980s, Muzak shifted its focus to Audio Architecture, and a new way of reaching the hearts and minds of customers was born."

T, L & C's approach:

"The use of 'acoustic bombardment' has 'become standard practice on the battlefields of Iraq, and… has joined sensory deprivation and sexual humiliation as among the non-lethal means by which prisoners from Abu Ghraib to Guantanamo may be coerced to yield their secrets without violating US law' ” (“Music as Torture” by Suzanne G. Cusick, Transcultural Music Review Vol. 10, 2006).

• T, L & C were for twenty-three years self-defined by their illegal and now defunct business operation. They have nothing lawful to do on their property, except reside there, and nothing gainful or useful (or legal?) to do away from their property. They are now poster children for the sayings: 
• “In works of labour, or of skill,
• I would be busy too;
• For Satan finds some mischief still
• For idle hands to do.” (Issac Watts)

and

. “The only thing worse than idle hands is an idle mind.” (Anton Lavey)

and

.  "An idle brain is the devil's workshop." (Henry George Bohn)

• T, L & C have spurned every overture to join the adult human race, desiring only to throw verbal and musical tantrums, continue litigation, decline to make or accept offers of settlement, and refuse to remediate their outdoor radio nuisance. I again refer the reader to the best article I have ever read about noise, in the .pdf newsletter The Quiet Zone:

The Nature of Noise

 

   See if you can find Lynda, Theresa, and Corky in there...

 

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* primogeniture - Latin word meaning " first born". It refers to the common tradition of the first born child of the parents who, by this law, inherits the entire estate of the parents because he/she is the eldest of all the children. This law is no more in existence in most of the world's countries now, except in the Third World village of Manteca, California, and the estate at 810 Fishback Street.

Icy Cold Dealings...

It is hard to imagine anyone having a more intimate working knowledge of the now defunct TLC Catering's operation than Mr. Bill Crystal, of AAA Refrigeration.

• Mr. Bill was the shining knight who came running every time Lynda called him to say the icemaker had gone Kaput!
• (Picture taken September 3, 2008. An extra bucket was always left filled for the junkyard dogs to drink from during the day. Whiskey loved to chew the ice, too.)

• Mr. Bill, the Dr. House of icemakers, was the one to risk his life for a few ice cubes, as in this post.
• Mr. Bill was much more than merely a service vendor - more of a dear, dear friend - to the perennially poor, little, and old women, who struggled and scraped to just barely eke a spartan living out of the cutthroat street vending business. (Oh, puh...leeze! gag!)
• Mr. Bill spent an entire evening sitting with the entourage that showed up to encourage and laugh at Lynda's offensive redneck humor during the March 3, 2009 city council meeting.
• (An Easter, 2010, picture. T, L & C were gone all day, but left the radio ON for my "enjoyment." ) 

And now... {drum roll}... Mr. Bill has once again ridden to the rescue of the fair maidens not-so-fair, unemployed spinsters! He poked around the icemaker, inside the illegal structure built for it, and spent well over an hour (1240 hrs to 1423 hrs) sitting in the cover-less gazebo in deep conversation with T & L. (Oh, yeah... the yard radio was too loud and bothered these refined, considerate owners and their honored guest, so they turned the volume way, way down so they could think and/or talk without shouting.) Just guessing now, but I imagine one possible deal being pitched is that Bill buys the icemaker, or at least broker a deal,  so that T & L can pay their mortgage... or whatever... or buy more lawyer time to defend against my lawsuit.

Or, maybe Bill is supposed to get the machine certified and running again so it doesn't fail another demonstration. (It failed to start when T & L first tried to up-sell a potential buyer. Damn! The one time I wished it did run, and all it could do was cough and splutter!)

Sell the icemaker to defend against my lawsuit regarding their icemaker?! Now, that's icy cold. Wouldn't that be an irony to beat all? Whoot!

The March 30, 2010, Proposed Stipulated Judgment (still unacknowledged by the defendants) reads, in recital #1:

"The ice maker... shall be dismantled or otherwise made inoperable..."

Selling it and having it removed would certainly meet that stipulation. Of course, I believe nothing Lynda or Theresa say or sign until after they actually carry out their promise. (Now who's being icy cold?)

And, while they're at it, they could throw the yard radio into the deal, as in recital #2,

"Said outside radio... shall be dismantled or otherwise made inoperable..."

(Just sayin'...)
 
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p.s. To whomever buys this ancient, rattley, noisy, leaky, beat up, electricity-sucking (when not shorting out) Scotsman CME2006R commercial ice machine - here is the (free) official service manual.  ( ;-)  Tryin' to be helpful here...)
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Belated Apology to the late Roger and Flora Stewart

In Memorium: Roger Stewart (1915 - 2003, age 87)

In Memorium: Flora Stewart (1922 - 2005, age 83)

The two of you are owed the Mother of all Apologies by the owners of TLC Catering, other former neighbors, the County of San Joaquin, and the City of Manteca. They, of course, will not apologize to you, so I offer it to you on their behalf. I can do so because I took your place in the hell these individuals and entities created for you on Fishback Street during the last 16 and 18 years of your lives. I never met you, but I have come to experience firsthand your soul-weariness and intense frustration in dealing with the parties named above. I'm truly sorry the two of you went to your graves without relief from this bestial treatment, being in constant torment from your neighbors' noisy and illegal business operation, which crime was aided and abetted by a long succession of City minions.

What should have been your quiet sunset of years turned into a truly demonic hell when Lynda Allen and Theresa Brassey took up residence next door, recruited Corky Greene and others, and dragged along their operating catering truck business. How could they get away with that?

I apologize for the Grubb's, the Mego's, and the County for abjectly failing to resolve the illegal mobile home problem before November 1987. Your former neighbors didn't do you any favors. Nice enough folks, the Mego's, who had no business operation on their property when the east side of Fishback was made part of the City of Manteca and zoned R-1 Residential. You watched Lewis and Anne Mego deal with the myriad changes attending annexation, particularly selling most of their parcel to the school district, leaving them with an half-acre, their house, and a scruffy, unpermitted mobile home left over from when Dale and Georgiana Grubb owned the property and let the permit lapse.

I apologize for Allen and Brassey not having a clue how or where to properly set up a business. That confounded mobile home! When Allen and Brassey saw it in 1987, they immediately connived to use it as storage, as a commissary, for their catering trucks. They never got - or even asked for - conditional use permits from the City for either the mobile home or for their business use. They also failed to file a Fictitious Business Name statement with the County Recorder for their first year-and-a-half on the property. How did they get away with all that? Of course, they told you they had permits for their trucks from the County Health Department - with the emphasis on "County" - as if to imply they didn't need any land use permits from the City.

I apologize for lazy, reluctant City department officials, and for Allen and Brassey lying about their origins in order to evade permits. TLC's comings and goings constantly disturbing your after-midnight hours was bad enough for the first few years, but then another truck and another driver was added. This area had always been a residential area, and a new Home Occupation ordinance was adopted by the City in 1992, yet Allen and Brassey kept growing their business bigger and bigger. Something just wasn't right. You tried calling the City's business office, or code enforcement, or planning, but you got the departmental run-around for a long time. Finally, an "investigation" was made, which consisted of a few conversations with the lawbreakers, who lied about the scope of their business operation and remain stubbornly and willfully ignorant about the property being in the City when they moved the business onto it.

I apologize again for Allen and Brassey and Greene, who dismissed your legitimate needs (sleep, for instance) and turned their malicious, vindictive natures upon you, or anyone, who spoke against them. For example, after feeling some pressure from me, a year ago they deliberately added MORE noise to their already noisy operation by moving their outdoor radio speaker very close and pointing it my direction.

I apologize for incompetent City officials, who, through laziness or overwork, did not challenge and deny the liars' claims. In a classic case of the whistleblower getting punished, all hell broke loose upon your property after that farce of an "investigation." A HUGE MISTAKE was made when Manteca officials believed your neighbors' lies, without verifying the facts, and wrote a few false and fateful words on City letterhead. With that bogus "grandfather" letter, the City basically bound you, gagged you, and held you down, while your neighbors vilely subjected you to "waterboard torture" with around-the-clock noise. Allen and Brassey took that letter to the Health Department and "legalized" and expanded the commissary operation far beyond the mobile home: without a City permit, your neighbors hauled a trailer with retrofitted refrigeration units on top onto their property; without a City permit, they poured a concrete slab, behind their outbuilding and right up against your fence, to install a walk-in freezer with its compressor unit sitting on top; without a City permit, they built a ramshakle shed over part of the concrete slab to shelter the outdoor installation of a grossly noisy commercial icemaker, and mounted its condenser unit above it on the roof of the outbuilding, facing your house; without a City permit, they began receiving commercial vendor deliveries to the expanded commissary.... And the City refused to do anything for you concerning any of it!

I apologize for the many City functionaries, some still employed, who had the power to remedy this travesty but made no effort to do so, or fell far short of even mediocre performance. As with you, department after department "quarantined" me and my complaints. Proof of Allen's and Brassey's illegitimate status - the long overdue verification of facts - was handed to the Mayor and City Council over a year ago, but my experience with political animals was the same as yours; a stretch, a yawn, glazed eyes, further posterior spread - with a little flatulence thrown in for good measure, and a 5-0 vote for denial.

I apologize to your daughter, who lived in your house - with the hellish conditions described - for a year after Flora died, before I bought it.

I apologize for taking more than three years to get this cancerous catering company cut out and chemo'd - but I can report good news! Goaded along by my nuisance lawsuit, just this January Allen and Brassey quit running the infernal icemaker, and in February ceased running their last truck. Their rolling stock has For Sale signs posted on them (but they've pulled that stunt before.) They have abandoned much of their business equipment, although it remains on the property, rusting, disintegrating - for now, anyway. They didn't notify the Health Department that TLC Catering is out of business, so I did, by seeking copies of the truck and commissary permit cancellations. They still have not filed and published an Abandonment of Fictitious Business Name, but I'll see they do. Some tumbledown structures still exist contrary to building codes, but those will be reviewed shortly for demolition.

I apologize for neighbors and friends who did not – could not! - believe you or help you when you confided this impossible situation to them. I thought you two might like a short report that vindicates what you felt all along - that something was mightily wrong next door! Well, I proved you absolutely right. My aim is to restore this neighboring piece of property to a state of residential-only use, after the twenty-three years of fouling at the hands of Lynda Allen and Theresa Brassey.

Again, I apologize for the City of Manteca. It would be nice if code enforcement and zoning officials stepped up to do their unfinished jobs - now that the heavy lifting is done. My expectations in that regard are not very high, but I will be moving on City Hall this fall.

Good Riddance after 23 years:

TLC Catering on Fishback Street (1987 - 2010)

(May You Twist in Hell)

Fungible Neighbors, Fungible Lawsuits

Fungible - the property of a good or a commodity whose individual units are capable of mutual substitution. The concept is stated colloquially as, "Seen one, you seen 'em all." Examples of highly fungible commodities are crude oil, wheat, orange juice, precious metals, currencies... and the residents of 810 Fishback Street in Manteca, California.

The three women who haunt the neighboring property are highly fungible. (The word reminds me of what fungi do - they decompose organic matter.)

Their shared characteristics and observable commonalities are frighteningly uncanny. Take, for example, the ritual of turning on the yard radio promptly at 7:00 a.m.  A few weeks ago it was Lynda who shuffled from house to outbuilding, in slippers and robe, to turn on the radio and point the speaker my direction before returning to the house; later it was Corky's fingers on the knobs.

This morning it was Theresa's turn. Sure enough, at 7:00 sharp, she made a beeline from house to outbuilding. A few seconds later, Mega 100.1 FM came on and played loudly on the yard radio. A few seconds after that, Theresa headed back to the house... but she saw something unusual, arrested her forward motion, her mouth opened and very unladylike language came out! She came to the fence, couldn't see over it (see the "fence extenders" they put up?), and rattled it while barking challenges. In short, she acted just like Rufus and friend. (Theresa has come unhinged over dogs before...)

(The picture above was taken on Easter Sunday about 1300 hrs. The neighbors were off screwing around somewhere all day, making sure to turn the radio ON just before leaving. Notice the speaker's orientation.)

Now, when my neighbors are really mad at me, they set up their ladder so they can see over their own "fence extenders" and they turn the speaker towards my house. The picture below was taken this morning, two days after Easter.

I know, I know... I've covered all this before. But the excitement didn't end yet. Oh, no. I really stirred the hornets' nest.

Like one of her pressure cookers building up steam, Theresa's pressure relief valve didn't take long to pop off. Three-and-one-half minutes after turning the radio on, she turned the speaker towards my house (above pic) and turned the volume up to maximum. ----> Her orgastic release lasted twenty-seven seconds. <---- After she got her pressure valve screwed back on straight, her next *and brightest* idea was that maximum volume was not her brightest idea... and she turned the volume back down from ear-splitting to merely objectionably loud and sent out an SOS to the Alpha female, who is the Mother Protector... and the Father Protector.

(This is now the second time, four days apart, that they have sent a "burst" of Mega-high volume over the fence. Good thing I have these deliberate outbursts recorded because police and courts might find this ultra-childish behavior unbelievable as coming from 57-year-old women.)

As I pulled out of my gate to leave for work, the two of them pulled up in front of my driveway in Corky's little silver Ford and turned it around in the street. Lynda's window was down and she waved and shouted naughty things as they drove away the opposite direction. Lynda's only intelligible burble was, "... see you in court!"

Really? See me in court? Then why have they and their "free" insurance company lawyer been so non-responsive during discovery? I was beginning to feel they had no desire to go to court. If she was referring to the civil case, that means she will likely not agee to the Proposed Stipulated Judgment sent over last week to Mr. Mark D. McCauley, Esq., and we will indeed proceed with the suit. I understand that Farmers Insurance has pulled the indemnity and representation plug on them, so will they now proceed in propria persona, or pro per, - a Latin term meaning “on one's own behalf”? The old, but updated, saying goes, “The woman who represents herself, has a fool for a client.”

But we already know the referenced foolish client (or, those foolish clients) and I'm ready for her or them (fungible.)

Really? "... see you in court!"? If she was referring to some criminal matter, I say, "Bring it on, Babe!" But she'll have a helluva time selling some public prosecutor on her case. She should know by now that I have her, or the fungible Theresa, nailed down regarding their nuisance radio - which radio THEY put into play on the nuisance lawsuit table last June 2009.

The Babe's mouth is running again. Bring it on! This whole thing could win them an adverse judgment in both the civil suit AND in a potential misdemeanor charge.

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Trading Easter Gifts With the Neighbors

Dateline: Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010

What a wonderful Easter!

As their gift to me, T, L & C did NOT turn the yard radio on at 7:00 a.m. this morning. (Thank you, ma'ams.) Instead they barged and banged and clattered around in the icemaker "pantry" from approx. 6:45 to exactly 7:42, getting ready for some sort of field trip. Of course, over in the yard they had the stereo in their car cranked up to serenade themselves and the neighborhood while stuffing their "sleigh" full of "toys." The yard dogs must have been locked up because they were nowhere to be seen or heard. (And where's that chicken?)

At exactly 7:42, one said, "I'll see you out front," after which she turned on the yard radio loudly to Sunday morning gospel rock before joining the others. What a happy, thoughtful surprise! The music was perfect for an Easter sunrise!

At exactly 7:43, Corky's car, filled with occupants and who-knows-what-else, sped away from their driveway, leaving the radio on expressly and solely for my "enjoyment."

Well, let me tell you, I enjoyed it for several hours. I became so imbued with the spirit of enjoyment, that I called up the Manteca Police Department (MPD) at 11:21 a.m. and asked Dispatch to send some officers over to enjoy the gospel music with me.

Although Tight-Lipped, Limpy-pa-Loosa, and Curiously Curly were not physically present all day, the essence of their presence - noise, Noise, NOISE - permeated their property and mine... they would not want me to go one second without thinking of them. (Only pathological and puerile narcissists demand such such undue worship - undue because, among many other pyschological considerations, the Greek, Narcissus, was a "comely youth," whereas neither word applies to T, L or C.)

OK, in reality, I asked the MPD to physically verify my observation that no one was home next door, despite the radio blaring over the fence the song, "Yea, Though I Walk Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death," by the Whispers. (Wait... that was earlier in the day. Later I got a video clip of the speaker blasting "Super Freak.") When the first officer arrived at 11:45, I asked him to knock on the neighbors' door and ask them, if they were home, to turn off the radio so we could enjoy Easter Sunday even more.

The property at 810 Fishback has apparently been flagged by the Police Department as the site of an ongoing dispute, and the first officer must have called for backup and waited, because a second officer arrived a few minutes later to "rock out" with us. This is what they can see of the speaker from the street:

The second officer read over the first officer's write-up and they contacted their sergeant and Officer "Mike," who was the responder for the 6:00 a.m. Super Bowl Sunday disturbance (incl. police report) - and again the following Sunday (Valentine's Day.) Officer "Mike" must have led them to hope that Lynda Allen WASN'T home because... oh, those stories are already told.

Now fully armed with good intel, door-knocking ensued. A minute later the officer returned with, "They're not answering the door; the dogs are barking... Do they have a bird in there?" (Ah, yes, I was wondering where the chicken went, but... inside the house?)

The incident report was written up and the report number given to me. Here is the narrative from the Easter report:

04/04/2010 12:15:33 Officer xxxxxx Narrative: music heard from sidewalk, no answer at door. rp [reporting party] states music came on at approximately 0745 hrs. a few minutes later he heard the subjects leave the residence, without turning the radio off. requested documentation only-no report

We talked for several more minutes (thankfully WITHOUT the Alpha female commandeering and dominating the conversation) about the civil case, a possible misdemeanor disturbance case, code enforcement, and zoning/land use. One officer appeared favorable to the idea of me swearing out a complaint so he could "hook her" (I think that means, handcuff her.) He said that when people are hauled down to the police station and fingerprinted, they often remark, "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea, after all." The other officer thought it a better idea not to muddy the waters in the civil case, but wait first for things to settle. Soon enough they had to move on.

Six more hours of Mega 100.1 later, the dilatory dilettantes returned from their happy excursion amid a pouring rain. At 6:30 p.m. they thought it best to turn off the radio and retreat indoors, the former action being one they most often neglect before retreating indoors. ("Dark, cold, rain... it matters not... the radio must play on!" declares the ruling be-atch.)

Well, there you have it... T, L & C's Easter gift to me of all-day-every-day soft rock music... and my return surprise gift to them of another disturbance police report.

There is a very old saying, "Give him enough rope and he'll hang himself." This appears very true when you change rope to speaker wire and change the subject to one or more of my neighbors.

Yes, it is a Happy, Glorious Easter!

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Smoke Gets In Your... Eyes!

Dateline: Saturday, April 3, 2010

Boy, howdy! Ain't that Lynda Allen a pure work of art? Graceless and tactless, too, without a milliliter [1] of humanness. Sorry... that last is not entirely correct. While it is true that she and her adult-looking accomplices are devoid of adult thought processes, they are filled with the most perverse and childish manifestations of aberrant [2] thoughts and actions.

As ample illustration, take Lynda's observed actions at 7:14 a.m. last Saturday morning. Completely within her predictable limitations, she turned the yard radio on right after 7:00 a.m. instead of waiting for 8:00 like a good little girl. For some unintelligible reason, she took into her otherwise empty head the notion that I must be at home, in bed, and trying to sleep at such an early hour. Well, she was right on two points, but sleeping was an "iffy" concept with the infernal racket she was making next door.

Returning to the point, at 7:12 the radio station began playing a song with which she must be intimately acquainted, being a smoker and all. (Her laugh - better described as a gravelly cackle, eerily discomfitting in its emission, like fingernails on a chalkboard - confirms it.) The song's lyrics end with five syllables emphasized by high and rising notes - "Smoke... Gets... In... Your... Eyes!" A thought grabbed onto her puny-to-nonexistent mental capacities, overwhelmed them, and tempted her with, "On the last and highest note, turn up the volume really, Really LOUD. Make sure your bastard neighbor is awake!"

Two minutes later, the song's ending crescendo began. (During the previous night, Lynda's outdoor rock speaker, which is mounted just over the fence, was turned toward my house, as in this post.) In the one-beat pause between "Your" and "Eyes!" Lynda spun the volume knob clockwise, causing the greatly amplified voice to reach the hospital on Yosemite Avenue a half-mile away - and everywhere in between. The decibel reading went off the charts. Every sound, but one, ceased to exist. Deafened and disoriented birds in Lynda's fruitless mulberry tree twittered and fluttered ineffectually [3].

Here is the annotated screen capture from an .mp3 editor program, which illustrates the purposeful manipulation.

The spinning world stood still momentarily while Lynda Allen puckered up, insinuated [4] her **censored** lips into the appropriate anatomical crevice, and tried vigorously to blow her vile smoke up my ass. (Hint: Keep practicing on yourself or your two live-ins a while longer, dearie. {shrug} Just sayin'...)

Immediately after the final note, the volume (or, sound pressure level) was turned way, way down and the rock speaker was again turned more-or-less away from my house. Lynda has wordlessly and unmistakeably answered every conceivable question about her defective [5] mental state. Her self-destructed brain is emitting smoke from every one of her orifices - eyes, ears, mouth, and lower.

Anyway, I need to "slice" out and save those precious thirty seconds of recorded Mega 100.1. I can listen to it over and over, and play it for anyone else who needs a little convincing of Lynda's instability. So here ya' go, ya' lovable qui*** [6], this song is dedicated to you:

"Blow... Smoke... Up... YOUR... @$$!"

- - - - - - - -
[1] milliliter (n) one cubic centimeter.

[2] aberration (n) the act of being aberrant (or deviant) esp. from a moral standard or a normal state; unsoundness or disorder of the mind.

[3] ineffectually (adv) not producing the proper or usual effect; futilely.

[4] insinuate (v) to introduce (as oneself) by stealthy, smooth, or artful (artificial, crafty, wily, or sly) means.

[5] defective (adj) markedly subnormal mentally or physically.

[6] **censored**

Opposite of Maiden Voyage is...?

Yep. Off they go...

• Good Friday morning. Just over the fence, the Mega 100.1, KQOD Stockton, 7:00 a.m. radio morning show fires up - as it has for many months.
• (What kind of neighbors play their outdoor radio for 12-14 hours continuously, every day, rain or shine, with the speaker pointed across the fence at a house not theirs??)
• Tight-Lipped Theresa visits the outdoor "pantry" (just over the fence, too) and fills the ice chest, packed with food and beverage for the pilgrimage, with ice.
• (After all, she IS the cookie and Limping Lynda - the starship captain - is "all stove up" from her planet v. starship crash some years ago.)
• The vittles get packed into Curling Corky's car.
• (Don't worry, it'll still hold all three Muses - T, L, & C - and it's much more fuel efficient than their big-ass pickup or the SUV.)
• Another holiday outing to the Farmers Insurance Company lawyer in Sacramento.
• (The mood is not so festive since time is running out on their "free" attorney because Farmers Insurance pulled the "reservation of rights" plug on indemnifying business claims on a homeowners policy.)
• (Or, maybe they're checking out other places to move and leave this HORRIBLE neighborhood - at least one neighbor - behind. (Of course, these three will take their HORRIBLE "neighborliness" with them wherever they wind up. That's the way life works.)
• The proposed stipulated judgment (subject to small technical adjustments) has been on the table since Tuesday. Because this is the plaintiff's absolutely MINIMUM acceptable offer, any objections or attempts to reduce the requirements by the defendants will result in INCREASING the requirements - or merely proceeding onward with the lawsuit.
• Lynda and Theresa and Corky should have no problem with that stance because that was THEIR stance at the outset. Three years ago... two years ago... one year ago...they have been consistently and obstinately - even hostilely - unwilling to effect ANY changes - even small changes - to REDUCE their noise nuisance impact on my property.
• (Contrarywise, these Sirens went so far as to INCREASE their noise nuisance by mounting their rock speaker by the icemaker and playing them both together! 
• (That last happened because I publicly outed their Dirty Little Secret - TLC Catering is NOT grandfathered!)

.
.
.
We are playing for ALL the marbles... the WHOLE roach coach enchilada...

Yep. Off they go... into the final frontier. May God speed their (one-way) departure.