First today, something personal.
A while back, I needed professional help with my website, goodmorningkeywest.com. Medically disabled homeless former senior federal air traffic controller Rick Roberts, aka Raccoon, offered to help. I gave him my administrator’s password. He took care of it, great job.
Rick later resurrected my dead laptop. Another great job.
Then, I noticed Rick sometimes was sneaking into GMKW after I had put up a the day’s post, and making some editing changes.
Once, he inserted a photo into an email of his, which I had posted. His email did not have the photo in it. The photo changed the tone of what he had emailed me.
Another time after Rick went in behind me, a long segment of a post was collapsed into one long run-on mangy paragraph, which I found when I just happened to return to the post later in the day and saw and fixed it.
Rick repositioned photos and pics, and topic headers. Usually improving on what I had done. But without telling me he had done it.
I kept getting onto Rick about doing that, and warning him to leave my posts alone, unless he asked me and I gave him the go ahead. If he kept doing it, without getting my permission, he would not like how I dealt with it.
He kept throwing it back at me. I was ungrateful. He was trying to help me. He was correcting misspelled words. Fixing font differences. Repairing formatting. Which he was doing. But he never admitted he had done anything wrong, or apologized. He tore into me, instead. Beyond the post he had edited. He went after my soul. He tore up my even posting to GMKW.
I was nuts. A fool. A liar. A hypocrite. Find something else to do.
Rick went into posts again the past couple of days, repositioning photos and pics and topic heads, and by putting indentation into the text of emails I had posted at GMKW. I never use indentation in emails I write, and seldom does anyone else who writes to me. When I say here’s the text of what someone emailed me, and it looks like the text of a formal letter, some people might wonder if I’m being straight with them?
Now under normal circumstances, as in, anyone else with a website would be able to stop what Rick is doing by simply changing the administrator’s password. But I don’t have the administrator’s pass code, which will allow me to change the password. The fellow who set up the websites had the pass code, but he doesn’t have it any more. He said he sent it to me, and he probably did, but I don’t have it. The company hosting the website will not work directly with me to transfer the pass code to me. They insist the fellow who set up the website has to do it. Or he gives me a sworn affidavit saying it’s okay for them to work directly with me. Or I get a court order. The fellow who set up the website refuses to help.
So here I am, stuck with a darn good friend, Rick Roberts, who will not stop going in behind me, without my knowledge or permission, and editing my daily posts.
So far, Rick has not seemed to have changed any text. Even so, it’s maddening, since I am the publisher, thus am responsible for everything that is published at goodmorningkeywest.com. I imagine anyone I know with a website would be freaked out with this problem; some people might file criminal charges.
Meanwhile, I see some font size fluctuations in today’s post, which I have no clue how to fix, so if the feral raccoon wants to take care of that, then wonderful.
Quit abusing the help Donald, or Assange Raccoon at WikiLeaks will be posting what you send to me all the time without any redaction or chance to follow up. I am an innocent Raccoon…
Columbia, South Carolina, homeless prison camp, which was razed after local liberal citizen troublemakers raised bloody fucking hell about it
On the local political scene, enter Key Largo’s county commissioner Sylvia Murphy …
In yesterday’s all three state attorney candidates agree at HOMETOWN Key West’s candidate forum that arresting and jailing homeless people is not a good way to try to deal with homelessness, and related breaking Key West homeless pew-u news post, I reported County Commissioner Danny Kohlage and County Administrator Roman Gastesi’s office staff telling me they knew nothing of Southern Assistance Homeless League (SHAL) having approached the County about it picking up one-half the costs of operating the new KOTS (the City of Key West’s homeless shelter), which SHAL had proposed during this past Tuesday night’s city commission meeting in Old City Hall. SHAL offered to build the new KOTS out of its own pocket, and be paid by the city and the county, 50/50 to operate KOTS.
Yesterday evening, I called Sylvia Murphy, an old, dear friend, and asked her if she had heard of SHAL approaching the County about the County paying SHAL one-half the cost of operating the new KOTS? No, Sylvia said. But she had read all about it in the Citizen, and had showed it to Roman Gastesi. That was the first he’d heard of it. They had themselves a chuckle.
Sylvia has always maintained that KOTS is the City of Key West’s homeless shelter, and the homeless people in Key West are the city’s homeless people and problem. Translated: Over Sylvia’s dead body will the County pay for the cost of operating KOTS.
I told Sylvia to go to goodmorningkeywest.com and read the SHAL / KOTS / homeless parts of yesterday’s post, and, while she’s at it, go back and read the SHAL / KOTS / homeless parts of the two preceding days’ posts, to get a view of all of that, and of what SHAL representatives Teri Johnston and John Miller told Mayor Cates and the city commissioners and city staff this past Tuesday night. Sylvia said she would do that.
I cannot imagine why former beloved Key West City Commissioner Teri Johnston is on SHAL’s board of directors and is taking the lead in promoting SHAL build and operate the new KOTS, without any bids from other potential shelter operator being solicited. I can’t understand why Teri is smearing her good name by being associated with SHAL. The reading I suggested to Sylvia Murphy explains why I feel that way about SHAL and Teri being involved.
Next today, what happened after I put a link to yesterday’s all three state attorney candidates agree at HOMETOWN Key West’s candidate forum that arresting and jailing homeless people is not a good way to try to deal with homelessness, and related breaking Key West homeless pew-u news post onto Facebook:
Next today, banter with Paul Revere, a former Key West resident, who had to move to Homestead, where he could afford the cost of housing, and of living.
I’m not contributing much to your discussion.
Without any helpful, doable ideas, I can only wish you good luck. You clearly don’t have much available, spendable resources.
The blog now seems highly reminiscent of Job.
I forget how that turned out, but apologies for dumping gratuitous noise on you, earlier.
Maybe you will soon have a remarkable streak of uncommonly good luck.
Eventually, it turned out really spectacular for Job; but he sure did get roughed up before that.
The probation violation warrant went active sometime last night or today. Kari can either turn herself in at the jail, or wait on police to find and arrest her and take her to the jail. The warrant was authorized by Judge Ptomey on Plantation Key, after Kari’s probation officer violated Kari’s probation, following the second trespass after warning, which was an arrest and to jail. The first trespass was only a citation for Kari to appear in court and answer the charges, which could have resulted in jail. Sam Kaufman is still talking with state attorney office about not prosecuting the first tresspass case. The state attorney dropped the second trespass case charges yesterday, apparently. If Kaufman prevails, there is no prosecution on which to violate Kari’s probation, although just getting arrested is sufficient ground, according to Kari’s probation officer, who is very unhappy how this has gone. She was shocked when I told her Judge Ptomey had put Kari back on probation; PO said it would never work, since Kari was banned from KOTS. Which Judge Ptomey knew.
Arnaud Girard called it a labyrinth. I said it’s a maze. There is a way out of a labyrinth. A maze is a trap. I hope Arnaud is right.
You’re lucky to have Kaufman with you.
It would simplify his job immensely if he could show the state’s attorney or whoever is the appropriate deciding authority that the continuing saga of “ Kari Sleeping in Doorways” has (SOMEHOW) now, a viable, legally acceptable, arguably permanent resolution.
You need some Luck.
You need some cash, somehow, too.
Regretfully, that cash source is not me, Sloan. Although I AM living routinely indoors, these days, I’m also not far, without monotonous, regular caution, from being quite broke.
Key West is still a wonderful place. Compared to anywhere, I think.
But, Sloan – the demographics have changed since I first lived there in 1989.
And they have truly changed, but Radically, since I first Saw it in 1976.
I had then been a happy bartender at Ocean Reef. “The Reef”, then, was Also genuinely nice, albeit in a comparatively “buttoned down “ way. But, truly, for real: Ocean Reef had been nice. Even for a resident peasant.
Item: At the time, Key West could not have qualified as a barnacle on Ocean Reef’s ass.
A few different people there had told me about Key West: “It’s shot, now. But, YOU, airhead, should go look at Key West, anyway. YOU would probably find it appealing.”
So, I went down “there”.
And they were right.
I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Where I was.
Key West revealed itself to me, quite plainly, and, as a matter of fact, to be: Paradise.
I could not, in 1976, believe that it had a US Postal code.
Paradise on earth, In real-time.
With a Zip code?
With a Naval air presence?
No Berkeley fake political bullshit…
Just; a warm tropical breeze, and soft afternoon light.
“Un – fucking believable”.
In the summer of 1976, when I hit the place, there was QUIET, everywhere on the Island.
Tropical Quiet, with a breeze.
Alright! From a responsible, adult point of view, there was, perhaps, only the excruciating vision of plywood on many retail Duval storefronts ….and Ed swift, somewhere, in mufti, constantly with his paintbrush and his vision.
Key West, to me, had been Quiet, tropically quiet. Like the mythical “Bali Hai, but in street clothes.
To me downtown had been blissfully quiet… splendidly Key West quiet, except for a Very few “Shrimper” bars.
Hippies there, shrimpers and Hookers, nada mas.
In short, it was perfect.
“Berkeley” was all the rage, then. “”””Erudite” leftist “thought” had been all the rage. Hippies were all in the news, then
Revolution was Then: “relevant.”
Key West was then absolutely Not.
Main Street was then a 40 year old novel by Sinclair Lewis and Ed Swift was still a young kid with energy and brains … in an economic backwater that was barely on any map.
In ’76,, the Navy had split and the town parental units were cloaked in gloom.
Never mind the First, Second or Third Temples, the Navy may have left Key West that year, but the Supreme Being, clearly, had not.
But, things change.
And not everyone participates.
EG: After 23 years in Key West, I Live in Homestead, donde hablamos Espanol. Hey, it’s fine. On the first of the month, I feel no angst.
Dang, Sloan: writing makes Me think.
But, for YOU, it means I’m all over the page.
Sloan: just for a few seconds, think of it this way: If they can fuck up Key West, can they not, with enough budget and enough determination, also fuck up the Universe itself?
Never mind your annoying resident Angels, Sloan, if you were the one to whom those wingnuts reported, would YOU let the earth based dickheads who are currently calling the shots down here ever run loose in an otherwise blissfully peaceful universe?
So: Again, Sloan – the “Real” Key West is, in the words of an old Eagles’’ tune: “Already Gone”. It is ‘past’. Like Stephen Mallory, like Earnest Hemingway.
May I humbly suggest that you cut your Monroe County losses, and: Take the Bunny and run!
I remember that Key West, drove down there every now and then from my father’s home at Mile Marker 76, ocean side, Lower Matecumbe Key.
In 1956, my family stayed at Ocean Reef Club. In the sticks, then. Wood-sided, perhaps asbestos, cottages and a main building with dining hall. A few buildings on dock by saltwater creek running out into the Atlantic. On incoming tide always caught a few nice Spanish mackerel with white bucktail jig, had to use wire leader because of their sharp teeth. The cottages were $50 a night. 9 hole, as I recall, pretty good golf course. I played it a few times. Went bonefishing the first time there, with a flats guide. I was ruined. 14 years old.
The next spring vacation, we stayed at El Capitan motel, next to Whale Harbor, Islamorada. I actually caught bonefish that year, with a flats guide. I was ruined.
The summer of 1961, we stayed 2 weeks at the Fish House at Mile Marker 76, then owned by 2 Birmingham, Alabama real estate mortgage banker men. My mother’s brother ran their branch office in Miami. I caught bonefish without a guide, quite a few actually, poling the whaler at the house. Learned how to use the idiot stick, I did, all by myself, by poling in circles, until I figured out to pole like it was a canoe. My dream was to be a flat’s guide. For real.
In 1963, the Fish House came up for sale. My father flew up to Nashville in his Cessna 310 and got me, I was a sophomore at Vanderbilt. We flew from there to Marathon, to meet up at the Fish House with my father’s brother and a Birmingham friend of his and my father, who had driven down to Miami. They liked playing golf together.
My father asked me what I thought? I said, hell, I hoped he bought it, great price, but he didn’t like to fish, would he use it much? He bought it. 4 BR, 4 bath, main house, with swimming pool out front; fantastic ocean view; and 3 BR, 2 bath, caretaker’s house, with flats guide and wife yard and caretakers; 2 lots running from US 1 to Atlantic. $60, 000.
That was before US 1 was widened and the new, bigger waterline built; back when new construction could not tap onto the old water pipe, which was maxed out. After the new US 1 and waterline were built, development exploded. Paradise died, died some more, died some more. That’s a short version of why you had to leave Key West to live where you could afford.
And a short version of how I became a flats and a deep sea fishing guide, but not exactly in the way I long had wanted to be. Yeah, I left out the abduction by angels and their awful training, which alienated me from my father permanently, and from society.
I know you are poor, and you have given me more than most who have contributed a little money. Society does not pay money for the work I do. Society does not even recognize what I do as work. Nor did my father. Maybe he got a different perspective after he passed over. My dreams of him suggest that happened. Even before he died, my dreams suggested he saw me very differently, in the dreams. Mostly in my dreams, he was the father I had always wanted.
Although I have written a number of excellent books, any one of which could have set me up with a modest retirement revenue, that never came to pass. Nor did the websites go in that direction. Nor did my ability to give darn good advice, about many things, because of the angels’ overview, create a revenue stream. Nor did my being perhaps as good a psychotherapist as I ever knew, and I’ve known quite a few of them.
So, here is sit. An anomaly. A barnacle. A fossil. With all of that talent, producing zero dollar revenue, waiting on money to fall on me out of the sky, or not. Fuck if I know what the angels have up their sleeves. But without a pile of money, there is no way I can really help Kari. And even with that pile of money, there is no telling how she will go, if she is off the street, living comfortably.
A pile of money would get me off the homeless rolls, too. That’s what got me off those rolls in 2006, and suddenly I was respectable, because I had money, a place to live, a car. The Florida Keys’ most prolific writer, by a great margin. Not to mention the poetry that burst through me in the Keys. And the soul drawings. In tsunamis. For fucking what? To be a pro bono country lawyer? Fucking hilarious.
Arnaud Girard calls me a prophet. Bob Kelly once called me one. And Norma Jean Sawyer.
OK, Norma might be a little too “creative” for some people, but she’s got a clear head.
And I would still suggest, she has a decent heart, too.
Clearly: If the Roman Curia knew that he was both on the ground and available, they just might make him the next Pope. Who, with any common sense and decency, would object? They’d applaud.
If, somehow, an “exit strategy” for you and Kari were to SOMEHOW emerge that involved moving to another jurisdiction, like, say, northern Alabama, would you take it?
Or – would you persist in maintaining your spiritual role as the lone, dissenting voice crying out in Key West’s well heeled wilderness?
On behalf of the economically disenfranchised?
Sloan, could you Somehow be persuaded to “Take the Bunny and Run”?
You know, ‘’and live Happily ever After”?
Sure, if I knew the angels were okay with it.
They will have to provide the means, too.
Meanwhile, they have me stirring the pot in Key West, which this year includes my being a write-in mayor candidate addressing really serious matters of the local soul anchored into local human goings on.
“Sure, if I knew the angels were okay with it.”
As you know, the Angels all – in this country, anyway – ALL still report to a G-y who bears a remarkable resemblance to Dwight David Eisenhower, so…against all odds ….
You two may still have future.
He may work on Saturdays. I dunno.
Nobody, but Nobody, really knows.
Paul wrote again …
(Ok, sloan, it’s Saturday. I’ll get off the page pronto.)
“Never give advice.”
“Too many cooks spoil the broth” (even 2)
We all know those two pieces of advice are true.
Just like we know “diet and exercise” together, are the keys to a “Good Life” and a possibly – just possibly -resultant sound mind.
Just like we all know that the Sermon on the Mount’s 2, count ‘’em, merely two commandments, repeated one long forgotten short compound sentence by Amos.
Amos: “Seek G-d and live.”
1. Seek God.
Done. Done, and Done.
(duh …. Uhh….except: who among us can Actually do it?)
Forget all that self serving Rabbinibabble about 613 Babylonian injunctions.
It’s a tower that needs to collapse. Yesterday.
In point of fact, we can barely remember our names under daily stress. From moment to moment, we’re lucky to follow our own “things to do” lists, let alone remember, Saint – like, any spectacular, eternal, moral intonations.
End of preface
Key West issues… there are 3, Sloan, not 2hundred and 87.
1 Affordable Housing,
2 Water quality, and
One time you chided me for not having commented on the intensely meaty content of your political “things to do “ list. Reason: there were 10 to 15 items, Sloan. Not only can the voters not keep track, neither can anyone else. You, oh mighty warrior for the L-rd, cannot.
When you pitch “Affordable Housing” stick to Peary Court, wipe Truman Annex out of your mind.
Look – the people of Key West got the deed to the land from the NAVY, Sloan.
The people of key west are partial owners of the Navy, Sloan.
If you let some private sector cutie remove that real asset from the public domain on some vague allegation about increasing the taxable base ….
You might as well just stay home and watch cartoons.
Stick to affordability this time and it’s possible that you could put a MEANINGFUL dent in the vote.
If you even register with the voters on that One Count, next year you can focus on toxic, waterborne threats and later on the psychologically debilitating effects of grossly excessive traffic on the gentle members of a simple Island nation.
It’s Saturday, I said I’d stay brief, but, clearly, I lied.
And I’m not even done!
Good grief, there’s no hope for my moral salvation
Actually, for me, it would still be the Green Parrott.
No, wait: Parrott is the guy from the West Point Foundry. I forget how to spell the bird’s genus.
So many bars, so little time.
Did you know that Fort Taylor has one or more of only three 300 pound Parrott rifles left in existence.
They were the ICBMs of their time. Bigger than Krupp, (267 lbs.) even then.
That was the year that this country first topped the Global Hit Parade in the heavy weaponscategory.
No college ball for me today. I’ll be moseying around in Aleppo and in Nineveh.
Tomorrow, we’ll see if the Fish have truly established a real offensive line.
The sine qua non of any football team.
The giants, clearly, have not.
Maybe next year in Jerusalem for the former Bronx residents. Probably not. Management knows that they’ll make fist fulls of dollars, whether they win or not.
We think football is a game.
The owners know it’s a business.
Bitch, bitch, bitch. It’s all I seem to do these days.
All I seem to read. Everywhere.
People are nervous, everywhere, Sloan.
It’s not just me.
I think that you are emphatically “Not Deluded”, Bubba.
Keep it up.
I, Sloan, will be at Jack Flats sports bar this afternoon and maybe tonight, watching college football games, including Alabama v. Texas A & M this afternoon.
Banter with not all that long ago homeless man Tim Gratz, like me, a former practicing attorney. Unlike me, he got disbarred and I disbarred myself. Unlike me, Tim is a life-long loyal Republican in Trump shock.
cartoon provided by the all seeing raccoon
As Sancho Panza, of New York City, exquisitely opined maybe a week ago, Donald Trump will take America to the much needed train wreck fastest; then perhaps something worthwhile will rise up outta de rubble. Note, might.
What should be done IMO
All women who accused him should be required to give a sworn deposition to the truth. DT should promise immunity to anyone who withdrew claim and stated if anyone egged them on
DT should also give deposition
Anyone lying should be prosecuted
Do you thing swearing to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help them God is an guarantee whatsoever they will do that?
Here’s the order of getting to the bottom of who is telling the truth: