Are We But Kissing a Pig?

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"You can clean up a pig, put a ribbon on its tail, spray it with perfume, but it is still a pig." 

You can even put lipstick on a pig, but it is still a pig... and you get really messy when you try to kiss it!

(Surprising resemblance to "Yellow," don't you think? Paint that snout and pucker up!)

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Such is the state of affairs at 810 Fishback Street, the property infested with inhabited by the BDGs, "Red," "Green," and "Yellow." For the last two months construction has continuously proceeded next door. The sounds of saws, hammers, shovels, staple guns, compressors, etc. have issued unabated - and adulterated with the always-on strains of Mega 100.1 FM or the monotonous foreign language announcers of World Cup Soccer.

For two months the BDGs have been pouring money into the small house, into which they have been cramming three human {cough} occupants and several dogs / cats / birds / (fish?) for many years. There must have been an awful lot of deferred maintenance built up while they ignored their homeowner duties in favor of their (illegal) nonresidential activities.

When I moved next to "Red," "Yellow," and "Green" three years ago, their constant refrain was, liberally translated, "We is so poor." So poor were they that they sent a confidence woman over to con me out of a few bucks for steel stakes to prop up the falling-down fence they had destroyed with (illegal) runoff from their property. They have since come up with the money to replace most of the fence EXCEPT for the worst portion, hidden from their view behind (illegally) hammered up plywood and tarps they hung in an (illegal) shanty shed. The whole "fence thing" helped me "cotton" fully to their sociopathic personality disorders.

In February of this year, they complained to their freebie homeowners insurance lawyer that the economy was so bad they had to shut down their (illegal and uninsured) home business operation. It must have been running at a deficit for quite a while. Of course, assets of every kind and description are still unsold and still (illegally) on the property.

So, where did they obtain the money to:

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  do landscaping?
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  rebuild a screened porch out back?
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  re-roof the house?
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  put on window sunguards?
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  install new vinyl siding with insulation?
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  as well as
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  keep going to Costco (on an invalid California Sellers Permit?) ?
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  pay their mortgage (full equity refinance in 2007) ?
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  keep gas in their big-ass vehicles?

One guess is, perhaps they sold their Tracy "retail route" to the next generation of roach coach operators. (Several other possibilities come to mind, as well.)

As far as curb appeal is concerned, "Yellow," "Green," and "Red" have done a bang-up job on the house.

Front - New roof, siding, sunguards, and plantings.

Back - Screened porch, less lattice still.

(It even has a shelf for the rock speaker - Auntie Lyn fairly squealed with excitement!)

If the property is indeed being prepped for rental (ha!), the BDGs must surely realize that a non-redneck renter would not touch a disaster such as is in the business yard. The progress the occupants made with the house reminds me of the passage about "whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness." (Matt. 23: 27)

A more modern, colloquial version is, "Putting lipstick on a pig."

To cease running the catering truck(s) last February is one very small part of abating the illegal use of the property. The much larger part is to remove the illegal mobile home, demolish all the illegal structures, and haul away all the illegal trailer trash.

Shanty shed housing ice machine, upright freezer, refrigerator, and outdoor radio.

 

All the rest of the trailer trash... (at least, the inanimate trash.)

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To Attorney, "Final Push To Summary Judgment."

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I met with my attorney yesterday morning to cover the papers needed to file a Motion for Summary Judgment. The list is scary but I understand the reasons behind each filing because I have re-drafted most of them numerous times over the last several months, remaining productive while the defendants pretended to be  remained brain-dead. The BDGs have ignored, dismissed, and evaded responsive answers to propounded interrogatories, demands for production, and admissions, hiding behind that legal shibboleth*, "Discovery is continuing," and evaded good faith settlement efforts - the definition of bad faith. While their freebie Farmers Insurance Homeowner Policy lawyer (still operating under Reservation of Rights, are we?) cheered, "Settle, yeah, yeah, yeah!," the BDGs' head bitch  leader continually bitched, "f...u, f...u, f...u!"

Note: The expression, "Discovery is continuing," receives full expression in Bleak House, by Charles Dickens. His novel elaborates the true purpose of the legal profession. In the fictional case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce, discovery continues until hell freezes over, the opposing parties give up, all litigants have forgotten the reason for the action, and the estate is sucked dry by solicitor fees.

The list of Dickensonian filings so far looks like this:

• Motion to Amend Initial Pleadings (add radio retaliation nuisance)
• Motion to Admit Documents (defendants refused to admit documents)
• Separate Statement of Undisputed Facts (in support of summary judgment)
• Memorandum of Points and Authorities (in support of summary judgment)
• Declaration of Richard Behling (in support of summary judgment)
• Affidavit of Benjamin Cantu (in support of summary judgment)
• Police/Crime Reports (in support of summary judgment)
• Notice of Motion and Motion for Summary Judgment
• Proofs of Service
• likely other papers, as well

Yes, it appears God is forcing me to exercise more patience  learn a tiny bit about the US/California legal abortion  tradition. One big take-away lesson is that men's governing systems are hopelessly screwed up, impossibly slow, and incapable of correctly deciding anything of importance. Dickens, the well-written social critic, was dead on --- in the 19th century and today!
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* shibboleth (n) 1. a manner of speaking that is distinctive of a particular group of people. 2. a favorite saying of a sect or political group. 3. A tired, old saying - signifying nothing. {4. A way for lawyers to delay actual litigation AND to cover their arses in front of a judge when their clients have absolutely no defense against the charges or their lawyers.}
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TLC Catering's Longtime Political Protector

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"Politics: A strife of interests masquerading as a contest of principles. The conduct of public affairs for private advantage." - Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
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Willie W Weatherford and his wife, in May of 2001, sold the house located at 377 N Scenic Place, Manteca, CA, to co-owners Cornelia J Green and Lisa Gomes (County Recorder's doc #2001-078747, Assessor's Parcel Number 217-54-014.) In April of the following year, Cornelia deeded her interest in the property to Lisa, who then held it solely (County Recorder's doc #2002-064047.) Whatever happened between Cornelia and her co-owner, Lisa Gomes, precipitated two highly relevant facts - Cornelia wound up living with Lynda Allen and Theresa Brassey at 810 Fishback Street, and parked her travel trailer across the street at 785 Fishback for many years.

Cornelia J Green is - in Lynda Allen's words - "very well-known." She is the infamous "Corky," (here, here) who took an overt and active hand in the illegal operation of TLC Catering and Commissary on R-1 residential property since she took up residence with those two career scofflaws, Allen and Brassey. Corky was TLC's direct political lifeline to City Hall - direct to Willie W Weatherford, Police Chief, then Councilman, then Mayor; and also that (very large) spokesmouth, Rex Osborn, spinmeister extraordinaire.

Patronage? Cronyism? Influence peddling? Mr. Weatherford sat in judgment of my claim of TLC's illegal operation, pretended he had no clue who or what I was talking about, and skillfully directed the vote to deny the City reopen my case for review. Corky was in the council chambers with Lynda's and Theresa's entourage of other losers and hangers-on, while being "protected" by the O. Rex spewing old news. Such is the shameful, sorry state of dirty politics and politicians in Manteca, California. It is not a matter of following any laws; rather, it is a matter of who you know in city government who can quash any complaints. The less we have of Willie, the better off this city will be, regardless of who is elected from the current field of candidates - Anderson, Cantu, Moorhead, or Perry.

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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Neurological Anosognosia 'Morphs to the Psychological Variant

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Orthogonal:

Think of it as tangents, only in perpendicular dimensions.

(Looks like 'Loser' to me... in three dimensions!)

(See Supreme Court Justices, law professor play with words - Washington Post, January 12, 2010)

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Now we're getting somewhere!

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While laboring to decipher the labyrinthine psychological underpinnings of my neighbors, the BDGs, I followed a research thread I picked up from Jeff Gasmo (Gasmo - For the Defense blog), that led all the way back to the writings of Charles Darwin in 1871, wherein the evolutionary theorist stated that "ignorance more frequently begets confidence than does knowledge." (If there are people more ignorantly confident in their own abilities than my neighbors, I have not yet met them.)

A major proof of Darwin's hypothesis came in the form of a 1999 study conducted by David Dunning and Justin Kruger, of Cornell University, and published in the Journal of Personality and and Social Psychology. The study was entitled, "Unskilled and Unaware of It: How Difficulties in Recognizing One’s Own Incompetence Lead to Inflated Self-Assessments" (pdf). The documented behaviors became known as the "Dunning-Kruger Effect." Here is the authors' conclusion regarding those they term bottom-quartile participants (or, the incompetents):

"In sum, we present this article as an exploration into why people tend to hold overly optimistic and miscalibrated views about themselves. We propose that those with limited knowledge in a domain suffer a dual burden: Not only do they reach mistaken conclusions and make regrettable errors, but their incompetence robs them of the ability to realize it."

In other words, the incompetents grossly overestimated their abilities - because they didn't know what they didn't know - and apparently because they never could learn it on their own because they were unequipped "to spot competence when they saw it." Under a study heading called Incompetence and the Failure of Feedback the researchers noted:

One puzzling aspect of our results is how the incompetent fail, through life experience, to learn that they are unskilled. Sullivan, in 1953, marveled at "the failure of learning which has left their capacity for fantastic, self-centered delusions so utterly unaffected by a life-long history of educative events."

In the course of the studies, the researchers also noted that top-quartile participants (or, the competent ones) underestimated their performance for a different reason: The competent mistakenly assumed that their peers were smarter than they actually were:

"Top-quartile participants did not underestimate themselves because they were wrong about their own performances, but rather because they were wrong about the performances of their peers." 

Errol Morris, of the New York Times, wrote an Opinion piece on June 20, 2010, called The Anosognosic’s Dilemma: Something’s Wrong but You’ll Never Know What It Is (Part 1). He interviewed David Dunning, particularly about borrowing the term anosognosia from neurology, proposing a "psychological analogue," and conducting studies to explore this one of Darwin's many theories.

"In the neurosciences, practitioners and researchers occasionally come across the curious malady of anosognosia. Caused by certain types of damage to the right side of the brain, anosognosia leaves people paralyzed on the left side of their body. But more than that, when doctors place a cup in front of such patients and ask them to pick it up with their left hand, patients not only fail to comply but also fail to understand why. When asked to explain their failure, such patients might state that they are tired, that they did not hear the doctor's instructions, or that they did not feel like responding - but never that they are suffering from paralysis. In essence, anosognosia not only causes paralysis, but also the inability to realize that one is paralyzed (D'Amasio, 1994)." 

Lynda Allen, Theresa Brassey and Corky Greene (three birds of a feather flocking together) have somehow made it through (at least) the last twenty-three years of their lives with "their capacity for fantastic, self-centered delusions... utterly unaffected by a life-long history of educative events." Their psychological paralysis has locked them into incompetency - and prevented them from learning the basics of where to run a business so as not to shit all over themselves, their property and their neighbors. Their reptilian behaviors of intimidating swaggers, strident voices, and crafty lies has supported their miserable existence here for way too long. What a waste of space and oxygen!

The whole sad history of Allen, Brassey, Greene, TLC Catering and Commissary, and 810 Fishback Street can be summarized in the one line by Alexander Pope:

"For fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

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We have tip-toed around these fools - these losers - long enough.

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Credits

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• Justin Kruger and David Dunning, Cornell University
• Errol Morris, New York Times
• Robert Barnes, Washington Post
• Improbable Research at improbable.com, website home of the Ig Nobel Awards. Dunning amd Kruger were judged co-winners of the Ig Nobel Award for Psychology in 2000.
• Jeff Gasmo, Gasmo - For the Defense blog
• Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism

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Tell Me How You Truly Feel, Gray...

Ophelia: ’Tis brief, my lord.
Hamlet: As woman’s love.

Hamlet, Act III, Scene II
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Departing at 06:30 hrs Saturday morning, I pulled forward and got out of my truck to close the driveway gate. Hello...? Next door, Corky's car is poised for flight a couple seconds ahead of me. On her way past my driveway, she gives me the stinky-finger salute - the commonly accepted gesture of contempt, derision and devaluation.

Flipping the Bird

I am a problem to her? Her thinking is backwards.

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Hamlet: Madam, how like you this play?
Queen: The lady doth protest too much, methinks.

(ibid.)
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This is not the first time Corky has opened her mind to showcase its theatrical nimbleness - and, unfortunately, it's not likely to be her last.

Granted, it has been - and still is - a very long, hard struggle for the BDGs to get their heads screwed on straight under my prodding, especially after they have screwed everyone and everything around them for twenty-three years. (Really, they just screwed themselves.) But, isn't it amazing how the guilty party insists it is *somehow* the other party's problem or fault?

 (c) Lynne Taetzsch 

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets [her] hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
 
Macbeth, Act 5, scene 5
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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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