Insurance.

Since I left the USPS a couple of years back I get my health insurance through my wife and her employer. This, year, though, the insurance provider made a surprise demand that she present hard evidence that we are actually married. I suppose it's their job to prove that they are everything that is horrid and pernicious about the capitalist system.

So we had to drive all the way to downtown Charlotte to get a copy of our marriage certificate. (We can't find our original since it's boxed up somewhere--who knows where.) We checked with the government website first to find out where we had to go. It turned out we had to drive to a building and office complex that's named after a child molester. No, I'm not joking. It's named after a known child molester who was a long-time elected official in this county. We had to go to the third floor, office #20 we were informed.

Carole and I got there. At least the place had ample free parking. Going in, we went to the listed floor and to office #20 and approached the desk. The clerk there told us that this was no longer the office for that kind of thing even though the website says that it is. She gave us a newly printed card with the address of the building and office where that business is now conducted.

Previous to this I had not been that troubled, but now I was beginning to feel the urge to kick in a door or something like that, but I held it in.

We drove to the building complex indicated on the card, about a mile away from the first place that is named after the child molester. Carole and I had both been to this building before and it had its own parking. When we got to the driveway for the parking we found that it had been blocked off and the building no longer offered parking.

Another two circuits around the block revealed to us that there was a newer parking deck that charged $1.50 for the first half hour. And another sign informed us that if we lost the ticket we'd be issued upon entering that we would have to pay $15.00 to get out of the parking deck. We parked, put the ticket safely in the truck, then walked across the street to the entrance, climbing a bunch of stairs to get to the door.

At the door we realized that there was a metal scanner. And cops. Lots of cops. Did I mention that there are cops crawling all over this part of Charlotte? They're everywhere--like a lice infestation. Carole asked me if I had my pocketknife on me. I have pretty much carried a pocketknife with me since I was eight years old. Without fail. It goes into my pocket without thinking almost every morning.

"Shit," says I. Of course I had a pocketknife in my freaking pocket. So I turned around, descended all of those steps, crossed the street, walked to the spot where I had parked my truck, and put my fucking pocketknife with the fucking parking receipt.

A tiny bit more anger, but, well, nothing like boiling over. That anger had ample time to dissipate while I walked back out of the parking deck, across the street, and up the giant stack of granite stairs. (Thank Jove for Zoloft.)

We went in the building. I handed my wallet, my keys, and my cell phone to a cop holding a plastic basket. Then I walked through the scanner. It still went off. I then I had to stand in the middle of the goddamned hallway with my arms held out like Jesus fucking Christ on the cross at Golgotha while the cop scanned me again with a handheld device. (He didn't stab me in the ribs with it, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he had.) I un-Jesusly wanted to kick him in the balls, but I also didn't want to get arrested and, like I said, thank Jove for Zoloft. The new scan revealed that I had nothing on me that was metal with the exception of my belt buckle.

We then went to the nearest clerk at a big desk in the massive atrium and she told us that this was not the building we needed and that it was two buildings away. (You're laughing now, right? Right?) So we had to leave that place. The clerk told us to leave via a revolving door but when we got to it the door was barred and locked. "Not this revolving door, silly," a female cop told us. "The other revolving door." Which we found about fifty feet away in the atrium.

Yeah. I hate this shit. I hate everyone involved in it. The insurance company. The cops. The clerks. The child-molesting elected officials who make us jump through the fucking hoops. At this point, everyone. I'd have probably hated you if I'd seen your mug right about then.

Outside again we walked two buildings down, went in, walked to the office we'd been told was really, actually, truly, certainly, absolutely the right, correct, definite one that would give us a copy of our marriage certificate. We filled out a form. We gave it back to the nice lady clerk who had, I have to say, a cheerful smiling face and positive demeanor. Ten dollars later we had the certificate. Frankly, it looks exactly like the original and not a copy. We had applied for that certificate on May 21, 1984 and were married less than three weeks later. Carole is still married to my cranky ass. Amazing. Miraculous.

From there we left the building (no scanner), avoided the first building like it was an NRA member waving his AR-15 around, crossed the street, got into the truck, paid our $1.50 parking fee (somehow we'd done all of that in just under thirty minutes) and got the ripping Hell out of Charlotte, NC.

And now I am sitting at home writing this and dreaming of the day when I won't have to do this kind of ridiculous shit anymore. The insurance company has their pound of my frustration and anger, so I hope they're satisified.

People ask me why I am not happy with this country. Mainly I just stare at them when they say such a stupid, goddamned thing. So far I have not punched any of them in their smug, ignorant faces.

That may change.

I'm surprised they didn't name it the William S. Burroughs Building.

Good Ol' Color

One thing about the Piedmont of North Carolina...we have a wealth of hardwood tree species (both native and introduced) and some years the Fall colors are wonderful. This is an especially good year for color. I took these today on the job. Take a look at what Autumn colors the Charlotte area has to offer right now.

Too busy working on fiction to muck about with travel reports or essays today. Or probably within the next week or two, for that matter.
 

Can't make it to New England...so Charlotte will have to do.

Small Towns

I cannot stand living in a big city. I'm not going to sit here and list the reasons, for they are legion. Every day it is a struggle for me to just tolerate living in an urban area. So, as soon as we are able, my wife and I plan to flee the city for a rural life.

Here are scenes from some of the small towns near the place we have staked out as our probable refuge once we can leave Charlotte behind for good.

I couldn't live without a bookstore. They have a good one in Sparta.

Downtown Sparta. All sorts of cool shops.

The nearby village of West Jefferson. I have to say...West Jefferson is about as cool as it gets for a small town.

Another view of West Jefferson.

They still have a downtown movie theater and a live theater.

Carole checks out part o the wine selection at the cheese shop.

Want to escape even the small town for the wilderness? You don't have far to go. And, yes, we're talking about real wild country. This spot is at Mount Jefferson (a state natural area) where I paused to look down on the charming town of West Jefferson.

Stuff To Do

We had errands to run yesterday and it cut into my writing time, but I got to roam around the city a little bit with Carole.

I took my son to get some stuff at the drug store and stopped to take a photo of this tree. I've always thought that this was a very pretty and symmetrical oak tree. It used to have a circle of awful cedar trees planted around it so that you could hardly see the base of the tree at all. Fortunately, someone cut them down. I actually need to go back and take another shot of the tree, because from 45 degrees variant from this direction, you can see a tremendous iteration in the tree.

This the tire service run by Carole's cousin in Huntersville. We always go here to buy our tires and to have our vehicles inspected. This was our main errand to get out of the way today.

 

 

 

 

A talking Rodney Dangerfield Doll in the office.

The next place we hit was on the way home. I wanted to stop at Nova bakery on Central Avenue to have a latte and a pastry. This building is across the street from the bakery and is a curiosity because I once owned it. The building with the "Tattoo" sign on it and the "Twenty-Two" sign were once mine. There was no tattoo parlor there when it was mine, because I'd never rent any building that I owned to a tattoo parlor.

The outside of Nova's Bakery.

And here we were, at last, inside to order something.

One of the pastry cabinets. I got a walnut brownie. Carole got an almond pastry.

And just before we left we bought a half-dozen brioche buns to take home. Mmmm. Brioche!

28th Anniversary

My beautiful wife as we got ready to head out for the evening.

Carole and I went out to eat at Chima Brazillian Restaurant tonight to celebrate our 28th wedding anniversary. We had a great time!

I didn't get any writing done today, but that's okay. I need to take a day off now and again.

At the building where we parked (Hearst Towers).

The lovely couple.

Yeah, Charlotte has a real downtown.

We even have street musicians these days!

Hometown Jinx

For some reason I have never been able to generate any exposure for my writing here in town. I've tried getting the local press to cover my various releases, but nothing doing. Today (November 21) I held my first hometown signing for the release of the trade paperback version of THE FLOCK. The store (Park Road Books) was a nice enough shop, and they were kind to give me space and promote the appearance. But for the first time ever for one of my signings, I didn't sell a single book. Not one. Oh, well. It was bound to happen.

So it goes.

Looking forward now to some signing events out of town. We're planning Atlanta, Asheville, Boston, etc. Better luck points north, west, south and east than here in Charlotte.

Worst.
Signing event.
Ever.

Whitewater Center

Cities that want to be "world class" often claim that they have "world class" this and "world class" that. Most of those claims are hot air.

However, Charlotte North Carolina does have something that's world class. It's the US National Whitewater Center on the southern edge of town. Why this was placed in this particular location is a mystery to me. I'm not complaining or anything, but I don't know how we managed to get it.

The entrance, when we arrived before the 10:00 am opening.

Among other things, it contains the largest and most extensive artificial whitewater training facility on Earth. It has an enormous pumping station that chugs out 13 million gallons of purified water down a number of artificial river tracks. These mini-rivers contain anything from Class II to Class IV rapids. It's a very impressive set-up.

At the big rock climbing walls.

For some reason, despite the fact that we'd wanted to go there for some time, today was the first time we availed ourselves of the opportunity to go. Since it was our 26th wedding anniversary, Carole wanted to do something both special and different. So we bought admissions for our little family to go to the center to spend the day.

The main pool above the whitewater. It's all downriver from here.

As soon as we arrived we decided to do some flatwater kayaking on the Catawba River which runs beside the center. The price of admission included unlimited day-long kayaking on the river, so we took advantage of that and kayaked around a large island for about an hour and twenty minutes.

Carole and Andy on the Catawba River.

After that, we hiked back up to the center and went to experience the tree-high zip line. Well, Andy and I did. Carole opted to stay down below and take photos. It was beyond her physical capabilities anyway.

Yep. There I go up to the top of the zip-line! (I learned rock climbing's not for me.)

Then we headed over to the center's restaurant and ordered lunch--it was after noon by this time. We each had a good sandwich and some tea (I had water and a nice micro-brew). As soon as we took leave of the restaurant we hiked around the center, checking out the various whitewater tributaries and the massive system of pumps that make it all possible. By that hour it was time for us to meet up at the main staging area to get ready for the day's main event: the guided whitewater rafting.

The giant conveyor belt that takes your raft/kayak back to the top pool after a run through the whitewater. Also see the giant pumps at work. And notice the person falling off the raft at the very end of the video.

We all had a blast! The rapids were as advertised. Anything from Class II to Class IV. We got soaked, and upended on one set of really tough water. The whole raft just went completely over and dumped us into the drink. All part of the price of admission, as far as we were concerned. Following almost two hours of this, I opted to relax by the faux-river while Carole and Andy signed up for another go. By 5:30 pm the day was over and we headed home. We dropped Andy at his place and then came back to our place. Carole is already snoozing away, and I'll join her soon.

Best anniversary celebration in some time!

Carole and Andy see me on the bank of the whitewater course.

High Water

For the past couple of days we've had some kick-ass thunderstorms in the neighborhood. While coming home just after one hit we drove over the bridge above Campbell Creek which bisects the walking/biking trail McAlpine Creek Greenway. This is a very nice trail that is partially paved and partially gravel. I used to walk and bike it a lot until I was harassed by some punks when I was alone. I faced them down and roughed one of them up (they were in their late teens), but it made the idea of going back there so unpleasant that I rarely visit the place.

But yesterday as we drove over the bridge we were amazed at the level of the water rushing down the creek. The volume was easily eight to ten times what normally flows there. So I turned around, parked, got out and shot the following photos and videos.

Trail sign at the road.

The trail leading into the woods. It was about half a mile down that way where I encountered the smart-ass punks who didn't know well enough to leave me alone. Oh, well.

The power of water.

There is obviously a lot of erosion and runoff on Campbell Creek. The water is like chocolate milk after a heavy rain.

You can't even pretend this is a wild creek. There is always plastic and glass and other junk floating around in the water. Especially during and after a storm when the streets disgorge their vomit into the stream.

The sound of rushing water almost creates the illusion of solitude. Almost.

Addicted to Snow (not that kind)

It actually snowed here. A fair frozen precipitation event. We got about four or five inches of total ice/sleet/snow. It was kind of weird winter weather. Started as snow, turned to drizzle, then to sleet, then back to snow, then to freezing drizzle/sleet. The roads were really icy. Still are, in fact.

At any rate, here are some photos and video shots.

Just as the snow was beginning to fall. We had to run a few errands.

The photogenic place of work.

My personal postal vehicle. One of the few that has radio (AM and FM!), and air conditioning. It's one of the reasons I haven't gone completely mad in the summer.

Cairo had the right idea. Curl up on a blanket on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Sitting in a parking lot, playing "Addicted to Love" while the snow falls.

Watch the total idiot in front of me. He slows, turns into a driveway. What you can't see is that he backs out (blind!) at high speed and nearly hits me as I pass by.

Cityscapes and Perspective

My friend Wayne Sallee is always taking kickass photographs of his hometown of Chicago. He uses little disposable film cameras and captures the most amazing damned images you can imagine. How does he do it?

Anyway, every time I look at his photos of Chicago I want to go out and take photos of the Charlotte urban environment. However, I have seen Chicago. I have walked in Chicago. I have driven through Chicago. And Charlotte, you're no Chicago.

Still, I need to get out and get some images of my adopted city. So, while I was standing on the roof of the parking deck at the hotel where the comic convention was being held, I snapped several shots which I stitched into this image.

Oh, well. It's a start. (Click to embiggen.)

John Ostrander

Years ago when I still had my comic shops, one of my favorite comics writers was a fellow named John Ostrander. His scripts were what I can only describe as "quirky and funny". Even the darkest stuff in his adventure series always gave you an out in the way of a chuckle or a nervous laugh at the most stressful junctures of the story.

In those days Mr. Ostrander was best known for creating and writing a book called GRIMJACK. It was a foundation stone property for the then-thriving publisher First Comics. I recall how popular that book was with my customers. It was one of the books that would cause a crowd of fans to gather in the shop so that they could all discuss the latest issue. I also recall a lot of laughing that would come from these groups of comics fans when they were perusing the latest issue of GRIMJACK.


Well, Mr. Ostrander has been suffering from glaucoma for a number of years. I used to frequent his message board, but I'll be damned if I can ever recall that he complained about this fact or even mentioned it. He'd talk about his latest projects (STAR WARS titles at Dark Horse) and talk freely to his fans there. But nothing about his failing eyesight.

Well, if you're a fan of John Ostrander's work, or just want to help him out (his eyesight is now fading fast), some of his friends have set up a website for contributions of money or for donations of items that can be auctioned. Because, this nation being what it is, John Ostrander is not adequately insured. The life of a freelance writer in the USA. We're the last major industrialized nation that does not provide all of its citizens with decent health care. It's a crime and a shame, but that's beside the point of John Ostrander's predicament.

So, please, if his work ever made you happy or you just want to help out, you can get the details at this website:

John Ostrander-A Call to Arms.