Three Sheets To The Wind...

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Hey-Ho! Hey-Ho!
Jack Sparrow sails to the rescue
of the Barefoot Dirty Girls

Lyin' Lynda probably thought she could rig up some tarp sails because she saw pictures of sailboats on the walls of the attorney/mediator's office last December (or because she could see boats on San Pablo Bay from the foot of Tennent Avenue in Pinole when she was a wee lass.) Regardless, the Tarp Slut Tarp Whore Tarp Queen set sail...

Then Mother Nature took care of business

On January 27th I submitted a picture of Lynda's public erection to the City of Manteca Code Enforcement Department in the hope that the sheer perversity of this "sail" - this overheight fence addition - would produce action. (You and I can both guess what actions they took. {fart}) Whether they took action or not is now immaterial.


7:05 a.m.
Broken strut on left and on right,
bowing strut on right, discontinuous crosspiece on top

A little after 3:00 a.m. this morning, February 8, 2011, a gentle breeze started to blow. As it grew stronger, the sails were luffing and popping, and soon the Mickey Mouse supports were being wrenched to and fro, finally snapping, guy wires and ropes strained, and the whole juvenile assembly threatened to loose itself from its moorings and sail away.

But, wait! you exclaim. Where are sheets #2 and #3?

Oh... I see I did not show you the entire rigging earlier. There really were three sheets in the wind * this morning:


"Sails" between Smokehouse and main house

The strengthening wind provided great lifting and shearing actions and the upper left corner of the brown tarp got loose from the Smokehouse eave, threatening to take out the surveillance camera tucked up behind it. With the other corner still attached to the vulnerable cable and whipping it like crazy, yet another surveillance camera on the main house was imperiled.

The blue tarp was wired to the fruitless mulberry on the right, and the supporting 2x4 on the left was nailed to the rickety fence and the even more rickety "fence height extenders" (scrap wire and plywood pieces - true White Trash construction! What d'ya expect from three dopers?) This sail was threatening to knock down Lyin' Lynda's precious sound-permeable fence - regardless of the several layers of horizontal repurposed fence boards nailed across the back.

The lights came on in the shanty shed at 4:00 a.m. as Corkscrewed Green knocked about, trying to figure out how to strike the tarps, which were really flapping up a storm by now.

I vacillated, with my finger on the cell phone Call button, as questions swirled in my head. Do I call MPD with yet another disturbing the peace charge? Did code enforcement do anything at all regarding these nuisances and violations? Where is my chain saw?

At 6:05 a.m. the Silver Bullet pickup arrived with the BDG's current worker boy toy. What astounding response time these prigs rate! Who else demands and receives 6:00 a.m. service? Of course, this is the same laborer who hammered and tied up these abominations under the careful and personal supervision of Lyin' Lynda, Resectioned Red and Corkscrewed.

A little after 7:00 a.m. all the sails were down, furled, and stowed.

What CAN'T the BDG's build with a tarp and a few nails? They were all three sheets in the wind (intoxicated, doped, impaired) on this latest round. I can't wait to see their next asinine slip-and-fall, their next shoot-themselves-in-the-foot stunt, their next cannabis overdose Yellow Submarine quest.

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* Robert Louis Stevenson was as instrumental in inventing the imagery of 'yo ho ho and a bottle of rum' piracy as his countryman and contemporary Sir Walter Scott was in inventing the tartan and shortbread 'Bonnie Scotland'. Stevenson used the 'tipsy' version [ed: single sheet] of the phrase in Treasure Island, 1883 - the book that gave us 'X marks the spot', 'shiver me timbers' and the archetypal one-legged, parrot-carrying pirate, Long John Silver. He gave Silver the line:

"Maybe you think we were all a sheet in the wind's eye. But I'll tell you I was sober; "

Arrrgh! quoth L/L...

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"I'll See You Out In The Shed! ...NOW!"

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This whole fight over noise started with the Scotsman icemaker - and it appears Allen & Brassey are leaving that P.O.S. machine and its shed for the last. The picture was taken to document the expansion of the already-illegal erection. Currently, the BDGs have sealed it up with tarps to conceal their movements and have to use fans for ventilation.

The shanty shed dates back to the illegal business expansion of TLC Catering in 1993-94. After A&B dodged a zoning complaint bullet, they lied their asses off and conned officials into granting them "grandfathered" land use status. Immediately thereafter they ignored the non-expansion instruction and built themselves a commissary on the property to service all their trucks. From my researched report:

"Yet the TLC Life just kept getting better! Emboldened by Manteca's emasculation, three months later Allen & Brassey assumed home occupation (land use) permission from Health Department (food sanitation) permits and made an application payment to EHD to establish and operate a private commissary, naming their property at 810 Fishback Street as the location for inspections.[Z] (The current Manteca code enforcement officer opined that Allen & Brassey were merely attempting to “legalize” what they had been doing “since they moved in.” When did they move in? Sorry, but they still need a land use permit.) The nine months following September 1993, was likely the period when a walk-in freezer and a refrigerated shipping container were hauled onto the property, refrigerators and freezers were plugged in everywhere, lights and floodlights strung up, and an ancient, noisy icemaker was improperly installed. The illegal mobile home, that longstanding error, was swallowed up in the larger commissary operation, pieces of which were scattered all around the property. The following June, the Health Department plan checks were done and in July 1994, EHD issued a Commissary Permit to the owners of TLC Catering. Again assuming nonexistent permissions, Allen & Brassey began taking commercial deliveries to their property, something expressly prohibited for home occupations. They were now set with four catering trucks, a fully equipped private commissary, and commercial vendors whose big trucks delivered supplies and services to their doorstep... they were unstoppable."

A big concrete pad was poured to support the installation of the Bally walk-in freezer, the Scotsman icemaker, and other refrigerators and freezers used in the business. The posts and fiberglass roofing were put up to protect the appliances, as well as all the other crap Allen & Brassey crammed in there.

The following description of the shed was sent to the city and - no surprise - no action was taken.

Tue 12/29/2009 4:08 PM
New Request # 329034
The Problem you submitted was:
Request type: Permits
Description: A noncompliant and unpermitted accessory covered structure was built along the lot’s north property line, in the fourteen-foot space between a permitted outbuilding and the wooden fence on the property line. Recent noncompliant additions have been made to it.

The structure consists of a concrete pad, approximately 43 feet long and 14 feet wide, formed and poured to within 6 inches of the fence posts. A 31-foot run of roofing is supported on the north side by 4 x 4 uprights. Some uprights are set back approximately 24 inches from the fence, others only 6 inches. The other side of the structure is attached to the outbuilding, under 20 feet of eaves. The green corrugated fiberglass roofing material is cut immediately above the wooden fence and pitched to drain its runoff, and the runoff from the outbuilding’s overhanging eaves, right on top of the fence. The runoff has led to serious deterioration of fence posts and boards.

The purpose of the structure is to house various machinery and appliances. This means that the electrical wiring, plumbing and drainage may also be noncompliant. Indeed, a short popped a circuit breaker a few months ago, which led to some rewiring.

Drainage is a big problem. One of the machines under this structure continuously drains directly onto the concrete pad. Because the property’s elevation is several inches higher than the adjoining property, the water flows, first, onto the ground at the fence line, then onto the adjoining property, causing a mosquito-breeding habitat. Added to that water flow is the roof runoff, mentioned above.

The combined factors of a declining elevation gradient, the concrete pad on Manteca’s soft soil, no footings or soil retention devices, runoff drainage problems, the continuous drainage and intense vibration from one of the machines, and heavy use of the structure has caused soil slumping evidenced by a pronounced bow in the fence.

I am seeking extensive rebuilding - or better yet, outright demolition - of this noncompliant and unpermitted structure on my fence line. In addition to the damages listed above (and some not listed), it is an unsightly intrusion.

The response from code enforcement was, loosely paraphrased, "I can't find my own ass because it's too dark around here." (Hey, have someone take a picture of your ass and Twitter it to you! Buncha' prima donna top models...)

It's time again to shine a light on the shed and Manteca's C.E. geniuses.

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Decorating Tips For the Dragon Ladies

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"These six things doth the Supreme Generalissimo engender: yea, these seven abominations are marks of honor unto her: a proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shred innocent peace, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and she that soweth discord among brethren." (paraphrased from Proverbs 6: 16-19)

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My, my! The Barefoot Dirty Girls' covered porch will very soon be the outdoor room that the wind-whipped gazebo tent never was. They have been assiduously furnishing it for weeks, scavenging every yard sale they pass, no doubt.

• It already has its own special, built-in ledge designed for Mellow Yellow's outdoor radio rock speaker. (With the speaker's impending court-ordered removal, my sincere hope is that she is not so stupid as to claim that moving the speaker inside a lattice-work qualifies as being "indoors".)

• It already has the round glass table top, hauled in last week by Red. (In case the pedestal didn't make it from the yard sale, the picture above is my suggestion for an appropriate pedestal to complement the collective personalities of the residents.)

• It already has some sort of Sony entertainment device, delivered in the back of a black pickup truck that was NOT marked "Geek Squad." (Alas, the truck also did NOT have flashing blue and red lights, like a police car does. If it had, the rejection of the first delivery attempt about 8:30 one night would not have happened, when the neighbors failed to recognize the urgency to answer their door or telephone.)

• It already has a chest freezer - a leftover TLC Catering business asset, which Red and Green accessed every morning between midnight and the 4:30 am catering truck departure. (The schemers are attempting to "convert" it to personal use. Next thing you know, they'll try to move the former business' outdoor refrigerator into the covered porch and claim it as personal use, also.)

Since Lynda says, "We like rednecks," I offer a few other items of redneck decor for their consideration.

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A Menagerie of Jabberwocks

From Mark Twain's letter to Julia Beecher, May 30, 1880. [Twain's friend Julia Beecher crafted entertaining figures from roots of trees and shrubs. The Hartford Daily Courant of June 7, 1880, p. 2 in a story titled "The Bazar" reported that Mr. Clemens "after successfully disposing of a number of articles in Booth J. generously offered to dispose of the booth itself and all the people in it, including himself, but as no satisfactory offers were made the lot was withdrawn."]

"I have arranged your Jabberwocks & other devils in procession according to number & rank, on the piano in the drawing-room, & in that subdued light they take to themselves added atrocities of form & expression, & so make a body's flesh crawl with pleasure. There is a compulsory fascination about them which has drawn me in there every half hour all day; every time I go they look more intelligent, more alive, more suggestive of a convention of Consciences met together to play roots on their poor human proprietors; (see my late Atlantic article.) If I come down at midnight (with my usual dose of hot-Scotch stowed) I shall very easily be able to imagine I see them climbing about the furniture, bearing their rigid tails on high & inspecting everything with their critical brass eyes. I tell you they are different creatures now from what they were this morning. Then, they were desiccated vague imitations of the familiar works of God, & soulless; now, they are real creatures out of Wonderland, secretly alive, natural, proper, & ungrotesque to eyes used to them in the world they came from -- & so they take the fiction all out of the Jabberwock & I recognize & accept him as a fact.
 
"You have had a genuine inspiration; you have wrought it out, not lamely, but to perfection. It is the most ingenious thing of this generation. I shall hate to see any of these enchanting monsters go out of the house; they grow so in grotesque grace, hour by hour; & the more of them there are in a group the happier is the effect. Make more--don't leave a root unutilized in Chemung county. But don't go to the last limit--that is, don't breathe actual life into them; for I know (if there is anything in physiognomy & general personal appearance) that they would all vote the Democratic ticket, every devil of them.

"P.S. These things shan't be fooled away at this fair; they've got to be sold at auction; & I mean to be the auctioneer."

(The preceding from the Twain Quotations website.)

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Definitely NO Mirrors!

The smashing of this narrow glass
Which lived to hurt and to harass
Pernicious magic; dark, arcane
Existed only to cause pain
The things it loved most to create
Were envy, rancor, gall and hate

It’s true intent was low and starker
Something deep and so much darker
It’s mission here upon the earth:
To prove that women have no worth
The things it hoped to bring about
Were fear, resentment and self doubt
To feed on woman’s greatest fears
And it had worked for many years


It made the mirror extremely glad
When a woman thought that she was bad
It was the foul mirror’s fondest dream
To obliterate all self-esteem

Out flew the web and floated wide
The mirror cracked from side to side
Good riddance to that harping witch!
That mirror was always such a bitch

(Excerpts from poetry of Edwina Peterson Cross)
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Timepiece, aka Chronometer (to limit the outdoor noise you create to only a couple hours a day)

You know, they say Classical music and math make people smarter. Incorporating things like this into the overall scheme couldn't hurt...

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Pinole Pest Control

The impending canine count contraction calls for quick control of uncouth quixotic creatures. Gnome Be Gone's, a predator NOT banned or limited by Manteca Municipal Code, are the perfect addition to porch. The importation of these cuddly helpers will:

• Prevent the threatened invasion of gnomes (other than current occupants)

• Add just the right touch to the porch's sanitary conditions, eradicating ants, mice, gophers, chickens, stray cats, small dogs (oops!), dropped crumbs and "day-old" sandwiches still left over from the catering trucks.

• Maintain the current ambience which exudes from the residence (Is that a steel magnolia?)

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Ann Kornuta

And don't forget a card table for the Scrabble game every evening...

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I cannot wait to see (and NOT hear) the results of BDG Interior Decorating's big adventure into the world of home makeovers.

(Actually, that should be BDG Exterior Decorating, since the porch does not have solid walls.)

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A Question of Color

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A catechism (pronounced /ˈkætəkɪzəm/; Ancient Greek: κατηχισμός from kata = "down" + echein = "to sound", literally "to sound down" (into the ears), i.e. to indoctrinate) is a summary or exposition of doctrine. The form has, historically and typically, followed a dialogue or question-and-answer format. This format calls upon two parties to participate, a master and a student (traditionally termed a "scholar"), a parent and a child, or, as in the example below, a secular catechism between a dominant and submissive.

The following catechism took place yesterday morning at 07:15 hours, while everything was still and peaceful.

Lynda Allen: Kinda quiet out here, i'n't it? (The radio's not on yet? What'n hell ya been doin'?)
Theresa Brassey: Sure is. (Go ahead - turn it on yerself!)
Lynda Allen: They turned it on to soccer. (The foreign language speaking workers were listening to World Cup FIFA fútbol the day before.)
Theresa Brassey: {mutter...} I don't know. (Whatever...)

From the exchange's manifold purposes, these three are clearly drawn:

1. Daily affirmation of Lynda's dominance.
2. Daily submission of Theresa to Lynda.
3. Daily announcement to their hated neighbor that he is about to be forced to think of Lynda when she turns on her outdoor radio... and if he don't like it, he can go f*** himself.

And, of course, she turned the radio on moments later.

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I am able to detect color in Brassey (the red of apoplexy, or the heatstroke of cooking chorizo and eggs over a catering truck stove for twenty-odd years) and in Greene (gray, with a little pink). But Allen...?

Hate and insanity appear to be colorless. Yup, every morning around 07:00 hrs, when Allen shuffles out of her house to turn on the yard radio, she appears devoid of color, zombie-like and lifeless - on the outside:

• deeply lined, unsmiling face (OMG! Can't allow another minute of silence!) 
• straight, stringy hair of indistinguisable hue
• nails-on-chalkboard voice and horror-show laugh
• frumpy bathrobe with fuzz-less slippers

and on the inside:

• slavish devotion to breaking the law (mobile home, business, noise, dogs, construction, etc.)
• insulting haughtiness in breaking the law (I gotta right! I'm legally grandfathered!)
• distrust of authority and paranoia about neighbors
• attempts at ingratiation of police turning to hostility
• knack for alienating people with her demands
• keeping "vicious" junkyard dogs (who crap all over and mirror their mistresses' personalities)

She simply cannot endure silence. So why does she deliberately turn on the radio outside and shuffles back inside the house for an hour? (I'm curious if there are any mirrors in there?) What drives her and keeps her going on this hopeless course of self-destruction? Is she getting everything she wants out of life? Is she, perhaps, reaping what she has so deceitfully sown for all these years "in the country" in the City of Manteca?

Not a colorful picture, this insanity of Allen's.

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Then... a glimmer...

Today, she accosts a 90-year-old man, known by her to be an acquaintance of mine, and engages in the classic gossip game of "See What Route Your Bogus Story Takes Before Coming Back To You" (also known as, Who Told Who.) She pitches him a line about fixing up her house to rent it out and moving to Oregon.

The briefest flash of color...
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Lynda is fond of saying and practicing, "We don't talk," so that leaves me free to speculate on what's really going on - which is OK because true insanity is to believe anything she says and virtually everything she does - as in (grandfathering) (icemaker) (compromise). Some possible scenarios are these:

(1) She is full of shit  lying - again - and isn't going anywhere. (Remember, it's just a gossip game of misinformation.) She is really playing a waiting game to see if I give up or lose the civil lawsuit.
(2) She is intending to rent out the place to one of her clone-of-Lynda friends (But where will she go? Oregon is far away. I'll miss her - about as much as I miss the ice machine!)
(3) She is not renting it out, merely trading houses temporarily with a clone-of-Lynda. (She would miss me too much to stay away long.)

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The dusky, dirty hue brightens somewhat... and... wouldn't you know it? Lynda's color is YELLOW! Like a yellow-bellied lizard!

No matter what this "brilliant" tactician says or does (or doesn't), all options point to retension of the property. That's good because then there will be something with intrinsic value - not all that business junk - against which to file a judgment lien.
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Watch Who You're Calling [a] Dick, Red...

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Theresa thinks she is so funny, creative, clever, etc. You see, the BDGs had some window installation guys out this morning (Friday, 6/18/10) and "Wide Load Red" was standing in her front doorway with one of them. After lunch I walked across the street to check my mailbox and, as I walked back, she pasted a smile on her face, waved her arm at me, and hollered, "Hi, Dick!"

The obvious thoughts swirling through her puny, transparent mind were these:

1. I have a friendly witness; we know him - or, have been schmoozing him all morning.
2. To my witness, I am appearing friendly to my neighbor.
3. I am getting away with insulting my neighbor while appearing to be friendly.
4. My neighbor will not respond and will appear unfriendly.
5. Any non-response (or response) my neighbor makes can be used against him.
6. I am so clever.
7. Maybe Lynda will now see how smart I am and like me.

Driving past her place on my return to work, she flashed me a huge shit-eating grin and a look that said, "Xxxx xxx!"

When I moved into my house over three years ago, I used to get uptight about dog walkers letting their precious poochies shit by the bushes by my driveway - and leave the stinking piles there. But not any more. In a day or two, another dog will come along and eat it. Happens all the time. The dog leaves with a shit-eating grin.

It was the same grin Theresa wore. Just as I wrote last year, "Apparently her consanguinity with dogs runs deep."

Only two people in my lifetime have gotten away without correction for addressing me as Dick. One I loved and never even considered correcting him; the other I so thoroughly despised that I never bothered to correct him.

But these three putative* women...? They have mouthed off like this before. I guess this post proves the BDGs have not yet sunk to the level of despicableness necessary for total banishment. I'm still deciding - torn, actually - whether to respond next time by hailing them using the term xxxx** (although it likely does not apply to them.) Hmmm...

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* putative (a)  purported; commonly believed, put forth, or accepted as true, but based on inconclusive grounds or supposition rather than as a result of proof; examples, "the foundling's putative father"; "these three putative women..."


** censored
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NFH Recidivism*

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(Image by Steve Cox)

Oh, yesss!... Mr. Cox has captured the essential, empty natures of the Barefoot Dirty Girls. The likenesses and relationships are nearly perfect. [Note: Requested minor changes before purchase: (1) The Alpha Female here is depicted larger than the others. Could you, perhaps, physically stunt the dirty blonde to 4½ - 5 feet? And more gnome-like?; (2) Is it possible to make the redhead "wider", without losing the look of gauntness?; (3) Turn the green hair grey and put a little "pooch" in the tummy; and, (4) Put the Alpha Female and green/grey/hair in sports bras!]

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Small habits well pursued betimes

May reach the dignity of crimes.

Hannah More

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As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly.

Proverbs 26:11

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Wouldn't you know it? The BDGs, who like dogs have pissed all over  "marked" their territory by playing a yard radio daily from 07:00 hrs to bedtime, and insistently maintain their folly, have decided they can again afford to ramp up their nuisance.

Since the weekend of May 15-16, the neighbors have been entertaining a foreign language-speaking, two-man construction crew, and accompanying their work with the strains of Mega 100.1 FM, KQOD, Stockton. The "happy" sounds of power saws, hammers, scraping shovels, and the cycling of (icemaker-sounding) air compressors for pneumatic stapling and nailing have overlaid the radio for over a month. The dilatory** construction schedule appears to be a combination of several factors: lack of permits, lack of drawings (buying lumber one piece at a time), lack of brains among all parties, among many other items. When the "overlooked" [Lynda's favorite word] porch rebuild permit was finally secured, the re-roof project was suspended and the dogs returned to their vomit, so to speak. The overriding objective, of course, is the neighbors' tenuously legal ability to stretch another noise nuisance over the longest possible period of time.

Tuesday of this week, however, the owners experimented with... {wait for it...} turning the radio volume up! So it was that at 16:42 hrs the decibel level jumped until bedtime. Of course, they are sending the crew away later and later as construction continues until dark, as a forthcoming chart clearly shows. Thank God the summer solstice is only days away - and the daylight get shorter and shorter.

Thursday, the radio was re-tuned at 11:38 hrs to a foreign language station and the volume cranked crazy high, enough to be heard over the power tools being employed, including the BDGs' leaf blower (or string trimmer, or whatever-the-hell other power equipment they use to maintain their gravel business yard.) How can one take a lunch time nap with all that racket? If you have ever thought how irritating the play-by-play announcer is at any sporting event, just try listening to one who doesn't speak the official language of this country and is broadcasting his monotonous tripe to a worldwide audience. At 13:50 hrs the station was reset to Mega 100.1 FM but the volume was not reduced.

But for the reason of the BDGs' stinkin' thinkin' outlined above (and documented long ago), I can handle reasonable construction sounds. On the other hand, lest the BDGs think I will allow them to broadcast to the neighborhood the Fédération Internationale de Football Association (FIFA) World Cup Fútbol games from now through July 21st, it's only fair to warn them that I consider ANYTHING coming from the yard radio a disturbance of my peace and will be dealt with according to California's Penal Code, Section 415 (2).

. . .

But it is happened unto them according to the true proverb,

The dog is turned to his own vomit again;

and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire.

2 Peter 2:22

. . .

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* recidivism (n)  gen.  a tendency to relapse into a previous condition or mode of behavior ; spec.  a negatively connoted repeated relapsing into unhealthy, criminal, nuisance, or delinquent behavior.
(v) a tendency to recidivate.
(adj) re·cidi·vistic, re·cidi·vous
[Recidivism is a common term used when speaking of the revolving door of a "Corrections" facility. From recidivist, one who recidivates, from French récidiviste, from récidiver, to relapse, from Medieval Latin recidvre, from Latin recidvus, falling back, from recidere, to fall back : re-, re- + cadere, to fall; see kad- in Indo-European roots.]

** dilatory (adj) 1 : tending or intended to cause delay 2 : characterized by procrastination : tardy Intentionally delaying (someone or something); slow or tardy; intended to cause delay, gain time, or defer decision
[15th century, Middle English, from Anglo-French dilatorie, Late Latin dilatorius, from Latin differre (past participle dilatus) to postpone, differ]
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Now THAT Is (Tragically) Funny!

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Just where, exactly, does one start to describe the hopelessly foolish actions of T, L & C ??

In the BDGs' suddenly frantic effort to pour money into their house (as opposed to removing the catering business vehicles, structures and equipment in the yard behind the house), they have now strapped on crowbars, hammers, nail guns and paint brushes, and plowed full-throttle into the demolition and reconstruction business. Felix helps, too.

The only trouble is... they did not get permits to (1) expand or (2) re-roof their little house BEFORE they started. (The only reason they have a (3) vinyl siding permit is because they purchased it "installed" and Sears pulled the permit for them.) When the inspector visited them and halted the porch reconstruction project, they immediately pulled the re-roof permit and hammered away ever since.

All that is the tragic (ROTFLMAO*) comedy.

The really funny part is when the inspector told them to turn the radio down because he couldn't hear what they were saying. The context is even funnier because he doesn't realize that any of the three can out-screech freight train brakes when yelping at their dogs or at each other across their yard (or, maybe he does by now.)

Speaking of the radio...

On Saturday, the BDGs turned off their noise pollution when they left for a couple hours. It was a real treat to become reacquainted with natural sounds instead of their filthy, finger-flying trash noise.

And on Sunday, it got even better. At 8:27 a.m., nearing the end of their two hours of banging, bashing, bawling, crunching, yelping and kiss-kiss** preparations for departure, Corky exclaimed in her OMG! voice, "Is it 8 o'clock?" and a little lower, "What about the radio?" Theresa acted as the repeater, again hollering the question , "What about the radio?" to Generalissimo Lynda out front. The order from HQ must have been negative because the radio NEVER came on - the whole day! - when they left or after they returned. No noise, no neighbors; such a day is a treasure.

But the radio was on again early this morning, even though Felix & Co. is not banging around on the roof, even though his red van with silver striping is parked in the yard next door. (All the vehicles and crap on their property kinda reminds me of the [pre-cell phones] quest to see how many college students could be crammed into a phone booth.) Who knows, maybe Felix will show up with another truck pretty soon?!

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* Rolling On The Floor Laughing My Ass Off

** A Freudian insight into the women's relationships and why they keep so many dogs around. Kiss-kiss refers to their ritual, several times a day, of using their baby talk voices to order one dog or another, "C'mon little man, go pee-pee."
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I'll Hammer in the Morning, I'll Hammer in the Evening... (sing-a-long)

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As I said before, living next to the BDGs is an endless delight...

First, a reputable contractor pulls a permit to install vinyl siding.

Then come item #2, where the city has to be called out to tell them they need a permit to pour foundation concrete and construct whatever-the-hell room or porch they're building out back. Removing a couple rows of shingles to tie in the new roofline is one thing, but now...

Now the question becomes, Did this cotiere* of construction connoisseurs happen to mention to code enforcement that they were doing more than merely tying item #2 into the roof joists out back? This morning's festivities included stripping the entire roof of composite shingles...

... and removing large sections of sheathing, front and back.

Last time I checked, re-roofing as a single operation required its own separate permit. A complete remodeling permit, to include re-roofing, may be necessary in this circumstance.


Hmmm... WWJD?

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* cotiere (n) French, from Middle French, tenants, from Old French cotier cotter, of Germanic origin; akin to Old English cot hut. 1738 : an intimate and often exclusive group of persons with a unifying common interest or purpose.

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Concrete Defense? Pour It On, Ladies!

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Holy Cow! When I used the words "concrete defense" in a previous post, I didn't think the BDGs would take me literally! (If I disappear anytime soon, have authorities look for my remains under their new concete slab.)

Last Easter Sunday, my neighbors left on a day-trip. The outdoor radio was ON all day because they turned it on just before they took off. (The speaker is on the wall to the left.) This is the way their screened back porch looked at mid-day, about the time the police arrived to "enjoy" the music with me.

This weekend the porch went missing! Below is what the area looked like last night - ready to pour concrete.

Given the BDGs' contemptuous refusal for twenty-three years to do anything legally, the immediate questions presented were:

• 1) "Does this project require a building permit?"
• 2) "If so, do they have one?"
• 3) "If so, is it an owner's permit or a contractor's permit?"

This morning the street was lined with cars: Lynda's big-ass black Chevy pickup (an over-compensation, no doubt), a Chryler Sebring, the handyman's red van with silver striping, a small blue pickup, Theresa's soccer mom black minivan (now there's an oxymoronic juxtaposition of incongruous images!), and Corky's getaway car parked across the street. That was all to make room for another guy's work truck and a concrete delivery. Don't worry, there was still room for the painted ladies... sorry, painting ladies... and their pre-installation painting projects (see picture at end of post and look in the sliding door reflection.)

And, yes, the outdoor radio was turned on at 7:00 a.m.

At noon, the folks at the City of Manteca's one-stop permit shop were most helpful. When the three questions above were put to them, the answer to the first inquiry was, "Yes, a permit is needed." Turning to a nearby terminal, the city's computer system was consulted to answer whether one had been issued (question #2.)

Voila! There IS a permit!

{Knock me over with a feather! ... confusion reigns supreme... my mind casts wildly about for a lifeline... I forget how to breathe... the universe has just been turned inside out... and upside down!... 'Is NOTHING as it seems, anymore?'}

A croaking "Hail, Mary" is ventured... "Is it an owner's permit or a contractor's permit?"

The reply set the vast cosmos spinning aright once again - and prevented my untimely death by suffocation on city property - but it presented a new puzzlement (which is the normal course of earth's rotation in regards to the Barefoot Dirty Girls.) "It is a contractor's permit. On 5/14/2010, Sears pulled a permit to install vinyl siding on the house."

'Wait... hold on... I'm processing this new information...' In logical progression, that left all three original questions unanswered, and added a fourth. 'WTF are they doing behind the house? It has nothing to do with Sears siding.'

Who do you call when you have ghosts? Ghostbusters! The picture of the missing porch - and newly installed concrete forms - was graciously given to the permit technician, who said it would be forwarded to Greg Baird in Code Enforcement, which officer would visit the site, cite the scofflaws, and "encourage" compliance to Building Safety codes. Such action could also extend to anyone (licensed or unlicensed contractors) assisting in the violation.

Everyone I've spoken with has assured me that Greg Baird is top flight... the cat's meow... a code enforcement officer extraordinaire. I, however, have never gotten a believable answer out of him yet (but some thigh-slapping humor! (see end of post) I'll give him one more chance - with freshly taken and printed pictures - no more than a day old. (No ancient history here, Greg.)

If he hurries, he can still imprint his hands and write his name in the wet concrete.
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Oops,... News Splash! He may be too late all ready...

... and I'm still breathing air.

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