Deep Cleaning Conundrum

I completed the deep cleaning of my squalid room at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) last week. Sadly, maintaining that clean state requires a thorough cleaning every couple of days. The dust from the adjacent highway forms a thick layer of soot on everything. And, the clothes dryer vent outlet is apparently right next to the small bathroom window. A thick film of lint forms in a matter of hours since Alan, the "chef," and Tom, questionable drunkard, are doing laundry chores every day now. In fact, I am relegated to use the washing machine outside the house because the morons all do the laundry at the same time in the afternoon (coincidentally when I return to the dump).

Typical Leisurely Hottie

I can safely state that I don't want to do anymore houseboy chores. I am in the twilight of my life. I cannot waste any time on mundane chores. That's why I don't bother to cook food for myself. That's also why the "blog" is no longer published in daily format. Why waste time on any foolishness? I would rather loiter at various locations in leisure.

Scene from "Sweet Karma"

By the way, I happened to view a couple of "mainstream" flicks (courtesy bit-torrent download) on the poor man's home theater system, "Edge of Tomorrow" and "Sweet Karma." The latter was a great flick, even though it was clearly low budget. The best part was when Karma shot off the Vienna Sausage of one of the bad guys using a gun. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Slob Manor Mini-Update®
According to Alan, the "chef" engaged in a conversation with the landlord recently. The landlord is allegedly planning to remodel the dump. Haven't we heard that story before? The main concern is that the rent will increase subsequently. Of course, I made no mention that I'm outta here at the end of next month.

Cold Showers

The heatwave continues unabated, most likely entering the fourth straight month of sweltering heat and humidity. Global climate change, you say? What else could explain the phenomenon? Since my return to the islands over 15 years ago, I know that there has never been a heatwave of this intensity and duration. Needless to say, I have been taking a lot of cold showers lately. There has also been a marked increase in the number of clinically insane people on the streets. Correlation? You be the judge.

Typical Heatwave Hottie

I ran into Ralph, former dean and former pseudo-professor, and Darwin, professor at one of the local community colleges, earlier this week. We had interesting chats. Nothing pressing to include in the "blog," though.

Back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing), there has been no change in the tenant status of Tom, the questionable drunkard. I also suspect that the chick who resided in the attached studio has moved out. As for me, I am still on-track to move out on November 1st.

High Humidity

The heatwave continues unabated. Over three months straight now. There have been frequent rain showers in the evening and early morning. However, the moisture only serves to exponentially increase the humidity. No telling how long the heatwave will continue.

Typical Humid Hottie

The hot and humid weather has contributed to many sleepless nights at Slob Manor (read: rental housing). The constant noise is even worse. I am used to the noise of the traffic on the highway. The tenants of Slob Manor are another story. The "chef" is the worst offender. He will freely make a racket in the kitchen at 11pm as well as 4am in the morning. He really doesn't care. His inconsiderate actions (there are many) are directed toward me. He is trying to force me out of the dump. What a dickhead!

Then, there's the gay couple residing in the two-bedroom unit at the back of the house. For some reason, they must walk back and forth along the pathway by my window to the front of the house at 5:30am every morning. They are really nice people, though. So, I cannot complain.

Typical Capitalized Hottie

As for the "chef," he is an idiot and total fool. He is planning to move out of the dump in June of next year, most likely to "shack up" with his "squeeze." His babe is even more foolish. Does she not know that the culinary con artist has racked up $55,000 (after capitalization of the deferred interest) in student loan debt? Oh, I forgot, the moron is going to be earning over $100,000 per year as a massage therapist. He's a real "catch."

Tom, former drunkard, is still residing at the dump. He has been saying good-bye to everyone daily since last Sunday. I have only seen him twice. Both times, he shook my hand and said good-bye. Is he really leaving? I don't know. The stacks of junk are now gone from the first floor common area. Only one suitcase and a few pieces of clothing are sitting there now. I have a feeling that I will be long gone before Tom actually moves out.

Incidentally, Tom, former drunkard, is totally unaware that the "chef" has been "backstabbing" him regularly for years. Tom actually considers the dickhead to be his good friend. Well, Tom is always hurting for company. That's why he invited the pudgy homeless guy to stay upstairs with him.

Typical Dormitory Hottie

Little wonder why the dormitory in Chinatown is an attractive alternative. There will be inconsiderate losers there, too. However, I can simply report any incident to the resident manager. I don't have to act like I am buddies with anyone. And, I will pay my rent and be on my own.

Ol' Lavahead Mini-Update®
I have been my time indulging in bit-torrent downloads of all kinds of "mainstream" flicks and hurdy-gurdy video clips. Why not take advantage of Net access at Slob Manor? I may or may not actually view any of the downloaded content. Once done with, they are discarded. Who cares anyway?

Losers

Losers. I am around them nearly every minute of my life. I am trying not to be derogatory. I am one of them. For the purpose of definition, losers comprise nearly all of the "ninety-nine percent" demographic, at least here in empire. Finance, intelligence, education, personality and temperament, ethnicity (term used loosely), propensity toward ignorance, and physical attributes are criteria that determine "loser" (as well as position in the "loser" hierarchy) or "winner" status.

Typical Upper Echelon Hottie

When I state that I am around losers all the time, I am referring to the base level of losers. In the other words, the lowest of the lowest. Being around and interacting with losers has a profound effect on the psyche. Eventually, there is a blurring of self and environment. That is what has occurred with me. I am moving from the mid-upper echelon of losers to the base rank-and-file (i.e., homeless, destitute, dereliction). Why else would I have relegated myself to move to the Chinatown dormitory?

Typical Cleansed Hottie

With that said, I observed Reggie, confirmed derelict, at the of consumerism (read: shopping mall) in Kahala this evening. I was sitting in the dining area of the miniature food court. Reggie sat at the next table. He seemed to have scrounged morsels of food from a couple of eating establishments. I was eating a Subway® sandwich. Yes, I have officially ended the "cleansing" diet. But, I digress.

Reggie symbolizes the base rank-and-file. He is in his forties now. He will spend the rest of his life as a derelict in squalor. There are many, many more people just like Reggie on the island. No future. Living hand-to-mouth, so to speak.

We can move up the ranks of losers. Another strata is the demographic of bus passengers. Minimum wage slaves. No ownership of automobiles. Immigrants, legal and illegal. Ex-convicts. Poor, often uneducated, and arrogant. Yet another strata is the more affluent wage slave. More money, more possessions. Educated, but often stupid and arrogant. Can they all not see that they are no better than Reggie? Yet, they despise Reggie, or ignore him as if he were non-existent.

Sonmi-451 From "Cloud Atlas"

"Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others. Past and present. And by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future," sayeth Sonmi-451 (from the flick, "Cloud Atlas").

Ol' Lavahead Mini-Update®
Although the "cleansing" diet has officially ended, there are new and stringent requirements in effect. Although I have returned to the usual eating establishments, I cannot choose freely from the menu. High saturated fat, high cholesteral, and high sodium content must be avoided.

Surveillance Mini-Update®
I spoke too soon. The Google® surveillance robot is back with a vengeance. The "blog" is on the "terrorist" watchlist again. I will have to deploy the "Booyah!" countermeasures once again. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Master Plan - Revocation

Upon seeing my bus buddy on Tuesday, I realized that the Master Plan is a waste of time. Sure, I may live to be his age. However, at this point in time, I don't believe that I could tolerate the decrepitude. Looking in the mirror would be a horrific ordeal. Thus, I have decided to revoke the Master Plan. In lieu of the latter, I will live day-to-day and address any situation in the present tense.

Typical Youthful Hotties

I know that money and finances will always be an issue. However, I just don't want to worry about either at this time. I want total freedom while I still have my youthfulness (term used loosely). I am sick and tired of the societal "ball and chain."

Typical Rehabilitated Hottie

Back at Slob Manor (read: rental housing), I noticed a stack of boxes and crates in the common area upon return from town this afternoon at 4pm. Tom, former drunkard, is apparently moving out tomorrow. He will be checking into a rehabilitation clinic in a day or two. The cost of the program is $20,000 and Quest health insurance is paying for it in entirety. That's the same health insurance program that I am enrolled in, by the way. Apparently, ObamaScare worked to our advantage. But, I digress.

The landlord is apparently planning to rent out the second floor suite. So, I already know that there will be a slew of new problems once the new tenants move in. Thank Molech that I will be moving out on November 1st. In the meantime, I will simply attempt to enjoy my last few weeks at the dump, if that is even remotely possible.

Ol' Lavahead Mini-Update®
The Vienna Sausage is becoming more and more insensitive to external stimuli. Very distressing. What is the ol' lavahead without a functional Vienna Sausage? A damned eunuch, that's what!

Surveillance Mini-Update®
The surveillance robot has apparently been deactivated. The 'bot only pops up randomly, as it did just once this week. Perhaps the "blog" has been removed from the "terrorist" watchlist. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Cloud Atlas

When I boarded the bus in the morning yesterday, I was surprised to see an old bus buddy. I haven't seen him in a long time, mainly because I have been departing for town at different times. He is the guy who ventures out to Kuli'ou'ou to help his 102-year-old sister. He's 88 years old now himself. I chatted with him all the way to town until he alighted at the Punchbowl Street transfer point. He still lives in senior housing in Nu'uanu.

Typical Ageless Hottie

My bus buddy looks good for his age. He is healthy and fully ambulatory. He's also a confirmed bachelor. So, in some respects, he reminds me of myself. While chatting with him, I noted his physical characteristics insofar as aging is concerned. Lots of old man spots and splotches on the skin. Missing teeth. Skeletal shrinkage and deformations. Bent fingers, probably from arthritis.

Typical Reflective Hottie

My bus buddy has obviously been retired for a number of years. He rarely cooks. Like me, he prefers to dine out. He spends a lot of time in front of the tube. What else can a senior citizen do? I tried to imagine that he was a reflection in the mirror of the future.

Typical Confidante Hottie

Incidentally, when I returned to Slob Manor (read: rental housing) this afternoon, I was not surprised to see the "chef" and Tom, the drunkard, sitting at the small dining room table and chatting. The "chef" has been playing all sides, which makes him a devious "backstabber." I doubt that Tom, the drunkard, is even aware that his confidante has been constantly calling the landlord and telling all. No, I take that back. For some reason, the devious "chef" did not disclose the real truth about the "accident" that destroyed part of the cinder block wall. So, right then and there, I gave Tom, the drunkard, an unopened big-ass boxed wine as a gift for being the total clown that he is.

I plan to play subtle mind games with the Slob Manor residents (except for Alan) until the day that I leave the dump for good. I never received any compensation for my clothes that were allegedly ruined in the washer, thanks to Tom's homeless buddy. No surprise. Not to worry, though. The clothes were not actualy ruined. I was able to remove the offensive odor after all. Yeah, mind games.

Scene from "Cloud Atlas"

I viewed the flick, "Cloud Atlas" (obtained via bit-torrent download), over a span of two days on the poor man's home theater system. That's probably the last good flick that will I will view during my remaining tenure at Slob Manor. Anyway, everything is interconnected. An event in the past may affect the future. Treachery. Freedom. Sort of like what's happening at the dump right now. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaa!

Dysfunctional Normal Redux

Yesterday afternoon, I put my gym clothes in the washing machine that is next to my squalid room in Slob Manor (read: rental housing). Upon completion, I discovered that the clothes had an odd odor, like some kind of petroleum-based solvent, and an even odder residue. The clothes were ruined. Someone was using the washer the night before. The culprit wasn't Alan or the "chef." I am certain that it wasn't Tom, the drunkard, either. Who could it have been?

This afternoon, when I returned from my usual Hawai'i Kai visit, I discussed the matter with Alan and the "chef." Alan immediately called the landlord to report the incident. Then, I left a note for the culprit, asking for $50 in compensation.

Typical Suspect Hottie

So, who did it? The likely suspect is Mattie G, the pudgy homeless guy, who has been staying upstairs with Tom, the drunkard. Turns out that he is the same homeless guy who was the source of the problem at Slob Manor in March of this year. Mattie G is one of the many derelicts camping at Kawaikui Beach Park. Tom, the drunkard, must have met him while collecting redeemable bottles and cans in the park's trash receptacles.

Typical Defiant Hottie

When, I returned from my evening outing at 8:15pm, all was quiet. However, a few minutes later, there was a lot of shouting going on upstairs. The landlord's husband came by unexpectedly. He caught Tom, the drunkard, and Mattie G smoking pakalolo (read: marijuana). There was a scuffle, and Mattie G scurried out the front door while hastily putting on his backpack. He displayed a defiant attitude on his way out. Then, the landlord's husband lectured Tom, the drunkard, for about ten minutes. What good is that going to do?

Typical Sneaky Hottie

Anyway, it turns out that Alan made another call to the landlord, most likely after he saw Tom, the drunkard, sneaking his homeless buddy upstairs. During the earlier phone call, the landlord had told Alan that the new eviction strategy was to change the locks on Wednesday. That same feeble strategy failed in March of this year when the landlord eventually capitulated and gave Tom, the drunkard, a new key.

Typical "Point of No Return" Hottie

I made sure that the landlord's husband took the landlord's mail with him. My notice of intent to vacate the premises went with the other mail. There's no turning back now.

A beautiful full moon tonight. Tomorrow is another day, and we can expect that Mattie G will be reunited upstairs with Tom, the drunkard. The dysfunctional normal. A bad sitcom that just keeps coming back. Same ol' shit. Oh, wait! Mattie G has already snuck back into Slob Manor.

Slob Manor Mini-Update®
Both Alan and the "chef" firmly believe that Tom, the drunkard, will soon be evicted. If that was the case, the landlord's husband should have kicked his ass out the door this evening. Didn't happen. Not going to happen. Ever.

Dysfunctional Normal

I have been tempted daily to renege on my vow to move out of Slob Manor (read: rental housing). The written notice to vacate the dump is still sitting in the landlord's box awaiting retrieval. As long as it is sitting there, I can easily remove and destroy it. Then, I would return to the status quo. So far, I haven't succumbed to temptation.

Typical Status Quo Hottie

As to be expected, Tom, the drunkard, has not moved out of the dump. He has been going through the motions of moving out by placing delipidated kitchen appliances outside the front entrance, obviously just for show. The small appliances are of junkyard quality. Otherwise, there is no indication that he's going anywhere.

Just like a bad sitcom that keeps coming back, Tom, the drunkard, has been resorting to his usual modus operandi. He now makes himself scarce during the daylight hours, the times which the landlord would most likely stop by. He will continue to do so for about a month. Then, everything will return to the dysfunctional normal. We've seen the scenario played out before when landlord feebly attempted to evict him by changing the door locks.

Typical Deductible Hottie

Why do I know that nothing will change? Well, Tom, the drunkard, hasn't paid any rent in over a year. The landlord usually charges $1,400 per month for the two-bedroom suite on the second floor. So, the home insurance deductible to repair the damaged cinder block wall is merely a "drop in the bucket." We can easily "do the math." The landlord is heavily invested in Tom, the drunkard. And, there's absolutely no return on that investment.

Typical "Inner Animal" Hottie

Sadly, the entire society of empire operates in the fashion that I just described. The so-called "fabric of society" has completely unraveled. Grandiose stupidity is commonplace. Narcissism and bad behavior is widespread. Dysfunction is the new normal. The "inner animal" is finally breaking loose.

Slob Manor Mini-Update®
Tom, the drunkard, has had another derelict staying over as a guest for several weeks now. The "chef" has reported the infraction to the landlord, but to no avail. To add to the stupidity, the landlord has called on members of Tom's family to assist in persuading him to seek rehabilitation services. As I stated, a bad sitcom that keeps coming back.

Final Decision

My final decision is in. I will be moving to the dormitory in Chinatown on November 1st. The lease for the dormitory is only three months in length, so I can search for another rental dump in the interim. In any case, there are no valid reasons for remaining at Slob Manor (read: rental housing) much longer. What brought on the decision? And, why now?

Typical Decisive Hottie

The catalyst was my brush with death a few days ago, courtesy Tom, the drunkard. Incidentally, the deadline for his two-day eviction notice was three days ago. I seriously doubt that Tom, the drunkard, is going anywhere. Where would he go? Even the Next Step homeless shelter has strict rules about alcohol and substance abuse.

Typical Screened Hottie

Anyway, let's assume that Tom, the drunkard, actually moved out of Slob Manor. Knowing the landlord, the candidates for potential tenants would not be screened properly. Not even the ability to pay the rent would matter, as we have seen time and again. If anything, I could only expect the worse. More fools, more noise, more stupidity, more personality clashes. I don't want to deal with that crap anymore.

Typical Dormitory Hotties

So, I drafted a letter that should suffice as my notice of intent to vacate the premises on November 1st. I am giving the landlord adequate notice because I am requesting that part of my security deposit be applied to the September rent and the balance applied wholely to the October rent. I intend to have my squalid room in rentable condition on the day that I leave.

There are other compelling reason to leave the dump. I am an old codger. I need to wean myself of the Net. I must completely mummify the microscopic hurdy-gurdy video library (HGVL). I must return to my element (i.e., losers and derelicts). And so forth.

Day at Pali Momi Hospital

I had been dreading this day for weeks. Another cardiology appointment, but at the Pali Momi Hospital in Pearl City. I wanted to get a good night's rest because I would be required to leave early in the morning on the bus. Unfortunately for me, I was not able to get any rest last night at Slob Manor (read: rental housing). Tom, the drunkard, returned from parts unknown at 9:30pm with severe lacerations on his face. He was inebriated on cheap booze. And, he had been driving his battered automobile. By the way, he has no insurance coverage on the vehicle either.

Rather than simply call an ambulance, Alan and the "chef" spent another 30 minutes arguing with an obstinant drunkard. Finally, Alan took him somewhere ... I don't know where, and I don't care. The fools, including the landlord, are all enablers of a drunkard with self-destructive tendencies. Their compassion is misdirected. And, their actions are being scrutinized as I make the final decision about whether to move out of the dump.

Typical Heatwave Hottie

Then, there's the heatwave. Nearly three months now. Sweltering heat day and night. The trade winds are scarce and only act to circulate the hot air like a convection oven. My squalid room is also a convection oven. The ceiling fan only serves to efficiently swirl the hot air around. The sweat forms easily on my skin and dries to a sticky residue. Sleep becomes impossible. Eventually the hot air induces a stuffy kind of claustrophobia. Even breathing becomes difficult.

Typical Sleepless Hottie

A sleepless night only left me even more famished in the morning. Unfortunately, I was given instructions that no food should be eaten prior to the cardiology appointment. I boarded the bus to town at 7am this morning, just as I had planned. Traffic was extremely congested. The bus arrived in town 30 minutes late. I barely had time to drop off my gym bag at the gym. Then, I barely made it back to the bus stop in time for the connecting route to Pearl City.

Typical Eventful Hottie

The final leg of the journey was uneventful. I alighted at the designated bus stop right across the street from the hospital. I was actually early for my 9:30am appointment. Sadly, I waited until 10:15am before I was admitted.

Immediately, an intravenous tube was inserted in my arm. A dose of radioactive tracer was then injected into my bloodstream. There was some kind of mix-up because I was told that I would be subject to a chemical stress test. The technicians, however, had written instructions to proctor a treadmill stress test. I had to wait twenty minutes for the toxic substance to circulate through my body. Then, baseline images were taken of my heart. The process took another 15 minutes.

The treadmill stress test was next. As soon as my target heart rate was achieved, I was given another infusion of the radioactive tracer. Subsequently, I was told to take an hour break. I could eat lunch during that time. Upon return at 12:15pm as instructed, I had to wait another 30 minutes before the imaging machine was free. By the time the final images were taken, it was 1pm. I knew that I had already missed the bus back to town.

Typical Sweltering Hottie

So, I walked down to Kamehameha Highway in the sweltering heat. I was able to board a bus back from there. My arrival in town was at 2pm. My workout at the gym only included the cardio component. I was completely fatigued. All in all, certainly not the best of days.

Slob Manor Mini-Update®
According to Alan, the "chef" called the landlord about the damaged cinder block wall about two hours after the incident occurred. The landlord and the police arrived sometime after I departed on my evening outing. Tom, the drunkard, finally confessed after much badgering. However, his version of the story was a fabrication. I decided to tell Alan what really happened. The landlord, I was told, gave Tom, the drunkard, a two-day notice to vacate the premises. The notice was scribbled on a piece of scratch paper. More idle threats from the landlord. "Tom is not going anywhere," I said. "We will all be long gone before he leaves."