Fear & Loathing in a Soccer Mom Van

I was alone in the Texas desert sleeping under a night of shooting stars when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “Holy shit, I’m sleepy.” It was the soma—a muscle relaxant for my relentless chronic back pain. Before I left I knew I was going to have to arm myself properly for this trip and once you get into a serious drug binge the tendency is to push it as far as you can. I had a bottle of soma, a few dozen skelaxin (a non-drowsy muscle relaxant), a handful of Tylenol 3s, 10 percocets, 5 vicadin, bottles of Tylenol, advil, and aleve, attivan for anxiety infused evenings, fiorcet for pounding headaches, and finally a bottle of ambien, and I knew I would get into that rotten stuff real soon. There is nothing in the world more depraved than a man in the depths of an ambien binge. As the sun began to rise over the cacti the effect of the soma began to wane. It felt as if with each rising moment the sun were soaking up the intoxicant, evaporating it from my blood stream. I took the necessary pictures, and after much struggle in relocating the road, returned to my vehicle hoping to make it to civilization by nightfall. The South by Southwest music and film festival had already begun, and my longtime friend Dan was awaiting my arrival with a bracelet in hand. I checked the map, and began the drive eastward from Big Bend National Park.

Once the terrain morphed from desert to green rolling hills, I determined it would be important for me to take time to relish in the new landscape and reflect on what had transpired thus far before realigning with humanity. I had heard about an enchanted rock two hours from the Austin city limits called “Enchanted Rock”. It was essentially a blown up version of my sparsely haired scalp, a beautiful smooth round surface jetting up from small pockets of short growth. I reached its peak just as the sun was setting. On the summit, silhouetted against the sparkling sunset, I noticed a woman in a deep mediation who had covered herself in a blue shall that looked to my Jewish eye much like a tallit. I mistook her for a member of my tribe of chosen people, which somehow gave me the audacity to interrupt her meditation and ask her if I could photograph her. Although very caught off guard by the disruption, she agreed. I kept a distance, however, as I reprimanded myself for destroying what appeared to be a moment of deep bliss for her just for the sake of my photo album. In order to alleviate my shame I knew an apology was in order. When she began her descent from the rock I introduced myself and asked, “Do you come here often?”
Lame I know, but you have to start somewhere. I apologized to her profusely for my crude interruption. As soon as she opened her mouth I could tell that this was no ordinary woman. She held something unique. There was an aura and energy to her I had never encountered in a person. She said it was quite a drive for her to get here and that she couldn’t come all that often, but today
“I got the message,” She said.
I had to consult myself to understand this comment. ‘She got the message, what message, perhaps she works for the national park or something and just finished her shift? Or maybe she was meeting a friend.’ I responded,
“Oh Someone called you and invited you, so you’re here with someone?
“No. I’m here alone,” she replied.
Given her introverted demeanor I deduced that she was referring to an intuitive message. At first this made me think she lived in the clouds, but understood quickly that anything anyone does should, in a sense, be guided and ultimately determined, by an inner message. This desire I had to get in a van and drive off actually came from an inner message. With only a few words, this woman had already begun to enlighten me. We talked further and I told her that witnessing someone appearing so in touch and blissful, as she was in her meditation, was an important image for my neurotic self. She responded with many guiding words. What stuck out most was her teaching that referenced our meeting saying that everyone vibrates with certain energy and that there is a natural inclination for the universe to bend in order to allow similar complimentary and positive energies to attract each other. At the time I was skeptical of her words, but I have since reflected on what had transpired on this trip. I’ll start at the beginning…

Before I departed for this journey, through dream work and sessions with my psycho-spiritual counselor, I had recently encountered my anima, the female within, the soul of the male according to Carl Jung. This wonderful discovery had given rise to new inner voices, which has lead to quite the inner friction. I was amidst what can only be described as a sort of lesbian stage, very attracted to women and with a general hatred for all that is overwhelmingly masculine. Upon hearing of this inner feminine, my longtime friend Mikki Pugh, who I visited on my first stop in North Carolina, took it upon herself to make me a mix CD of women’s empowerment songs to aid me in my quest of self-discovery. With the disc in hand, and then in factory installed Honda CD player, I made my voyage west over the foot prints of the likes of Daniel Boone, Kit Carson, and Buffalo Bill. They traveled by horse back, hunted game, and fought the Indians and I road by soccer mom van, ate pharmaceuticals, consumed organic crushed peanut butter, and fought inner non-physical demons while being enchanted by my inner intangible woman simultaneously listening to, and belting out lyrics like, “Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats”, “Better that I break the window, than him or her or me”, and “I’ll bathe you in the crystal light that sleeps between my thighs.”

Two days and 1500 miles later I wandered off the highway and found myself in Taos, New Mexico. When riding the interstates and routes the goal of a concrete solid destination that exists on a map, which one can point to, and tell people that one is headed to, will prevent one from an existential crisis or numb one to any significant emotional eruptions. However, once the target location has been acquired and the car is put in park, the state of the mind can deteriorate quite rapidly. This was my first experience in a new city all by my lonesome and I was clueless as to what one does when one is all alone in a little city when it’s about to get dark, it’s cold, there is no money for a room, and no cash budgeted for anything other than gas and food. At that point dark questions begin to emerge such as: What the hell am I doing here? What did I expect a lonely trip like this to amount to? How could I sleep in a van with no heat in a ski town? Why didn’t I think of that? Why didn’t I plan? This whole thing was nothing but a bullshit romantic idea that would amount to nothing but lonely misery, wasn’t it? Then there is the existential crises and the self hatred and then…
‘oh, look there is a cool looking coffee shop.’
‘So what, you don’t drink coffee. Caffeine for you is on par with snorting lines of uppers, and as such is reserved only for partying.’
Oh shut up, I’m going in.’
I sat at alone at the bar and ordered a decaf and sipped at it.
‘Oh, brilliant solution Nay, what is going to happen here, how will this help?’
I tried unsuccessfully to drown out the internal chatter in a book while the voice was yelling at me to get back in the car and seek warmer pastures in Santa Fe.
‘But what the hell would I do there?’ it then said.
As this relentless blabber continued a woman sat down next to me. Somehow we naturally began to speak and I could sense very quickly that she was a sweet soul who was also on the brink of an internal meltdown. It turns out at the precise moment that I was freaking out in my van, she was panic stricken by the emptiness of her motel room across the street. We both came to this coffee shop at about the same time, sat in about the same spot, because we both were having about the same feelings coursing through our over active minds. I’m not a math guy but I wonder what the odds are on this one. We listened intently to one another’s stories and offered each other a listening ear, and words of encouragement and support. She was a recovering alcoholic and on a solo vacation from her home in Houston for a weekend to try and get over bad break-up. At coffee shop close, we parted. Both of our struggling selves walked in with a similar depleted energy, and through shared experience and communication, exited with a feeling of deep unity and support. It was the perfect goodbye.
Perhaps if these had been the only bizarre coincidences or attractions I could have dismissed the words of Dev, the enlightened woman I had met on the rock. But there were many more. In a bar in Ashville, North Carolina, on the one night that I spent there I happened to sit next to a successful music producer. He lived in an isolatedstudio in the mountains of Tennessee and emerged once every two years to civilization for a night or two when he felt his creative juices were depleted. The man had a vastly developed inner female and had years of life experience and growth that he drew upon making him an instant teacher for me. We bought each other rounds a few hours deep into the am’s and before parting remarked on what a blessing it had been that we had encountered one another. The words he needed to unload after a couple years of near isolation were the precise ones that I needed to hear. I met a stage designer in the public baths in Hot Springs (where everyone wears bathing suits) who was a knowledgeable nutritionist that offered me a free consultation for my complaints of back pain and general fatigue and even gave his phone number for a follow up. I was lost and low on fuel in the desolate Gila Mountains, a range with the vastest uninhabited space in the lower 48 states, when I happened upon an elk hunter who carried with him a detailed map. Perhaps my favorite occurrence took place when I was starving and alone in the New Mexico desert when a husband and wife drove up and offered me a sandwich. There were many more such occasions that in retrospect, and often at the time of occurrence, were accidents of such extreme chance that it has become difficult to refute them as mere happenstance. Therefore I’m afraid I must get a bit serious for a moment in this final paragraph of trip-summation…

My encounter with cancer shattered my faith in myself as a being, body, and persona capable of self-sufficient survival, and in the world at large as one that has any order or meaning at all. The source of this internal message that prompted me to collect clothes, drugs, and food, and start driving can be traced to an inner and outward need that I had to confront and restore this lost faith. The freak incidents, ups, and downs of this trip, as well as the helping words of Dev have brought me to a new awareness. Whether I say I believe in a higher power is unimportant. What matters is only that I recognize that the majority of the forces that make up this world are beyond my control and the only way to be happy (happiness – to let happen) is to possess the courage to surrender to those forces with the faith that while what lurks beyond the corner is unknown, its presence exists to bring us a step closer to meaning and enlightenment, to bring the wisdom of the unconscious, to the conscious. And for all you kids out there – while copious amounts of pharmaceuticals and drugs are pleasant, enjoyable, and make all around fabulous road trip companions, as Dr. Gonzo showed us and I can attest, they will not lead to the American dream. A dream is internal and therefore the pursuit of a dream is first and foremost an inward journey.

The March Issue

While in Tokyo in February of 2008 I had the esteemed pleasure of bathing amongst old naked Japanese men in the onsens (public bath houses). Confused by their intricate methods of bathing and the proper bath etiquette and technique I emerged unsuccessfully in my eastern study of the male genitalia (see the blog post “The February Issue” http://observationsofasixbillionth.blogspot.com/2008/02/february-issue.html). Now one year later I opted to venture to Hot Springs, Arkansas, and was excited for the less communal and more American method of bathing that I had read about, where each individual is treated to his own private bath. This would be much more pleasant. My modesty and self-consciousness were not going to hinder my experience.

Recalling what I learned in the town’s museum and from the locals in the bar, I will give you a brief history of this unique place. Underneath a strip of land in the Ouachita mountains, smack in the middle of Arkansas, there is a spring that runs as deep into the ground as 5,000 feet. At that approaching hell level, the earth and rocks are very hot and heat up the waters. Due to some weird configuration of rocks and pressure that you have to be a geologist to understand, the water here is forced back up to the surface and forms pools that are 146 deg. F. After the Louisiana Purchase, Thomas Jefferson sent scouts into these lands so that we Americans could do what we did best—steal it from the natives. By the late nineteenth century the town became a last desperate refuge for the sick, a rich man’s get away, and a mecca for illegal gambling. However, by the mid 20th century a conservative mayor cracked down on all the gangsters and modern medicine emerged as more reputable than hot water. The city was able to transcend the loss of tourists by starting its own businesses and horse race track, and having the government declare it a national park. In addition it now has an enormous convention center, a huge retirement community, some New York defected artists that have inspired its own generation of artists, one of the most reputable documentary film festivals, and most notably, claims to be the hometown of our beloved Bill Clinton. Many of the old closed down hotels and bathhouses became extinct but some were refurbished, giving the town center a distinct aesthetic of grand has-been buildings.

After getting my bearings on a rainy late-afternoon, I parked my car, located the visitor center, and told the rangers I was in dire need of a bath. They gave me a listing of the bathhouses with the names and phone numbers, but unfortunately almost all of them had taken their last customers of the day. When the rangers saw the look of disappointment creep across my face they suggested an alternative.
“Young man, many of the old hotels have their own baths and if you’re comfortable with pretending to be a guest you could probably get by.”
“Not to worry” I replied, “I’m a professional.”

I called just in time to make their last appointment and showed up to the Arlington hotel, an enormous structure built in 1922 that looked as though it was on it’s latter legs. As I wandered the lobby in search of the spas, I became aware of a certain eeriness that seemed to emanate from the walls. It was as if the spirits of the gamblers, hookers, and rich that once populated this place still lingered. There was a sense that the building was angry that it was only lightly populated, and that it’s population had morphed from glamorous women in extravagant gowns and the finest of jewelry and men sporting pin stripe suits and top hats, to overweight tourists sporting packs over their protruding fannies and cameras for necklaces. The building’s columns and beams appeared cracked, worn out, and seemed ripe for retirement but were being forced against their will to keep holding and supporting, so the town could preserve this relic of its former self. Like an elderly person on life support, it wanted out. Later that night in the bar I met a man who had helped put a new roof on the Arlington Hotel and he told me through wild, but dead-serious eyes that while he was working on it there were numerous bizarre occurrences that thwarted their reconstruction efforts. “It was as if the building did not want to be redone”, he said. But I did not have time to worry about this stuff—one of the attendants upstairs, a woman named Lanette, was waiting to show me the facility so that I could get started.

I paid the $25 and the man behind the desk pointed me in the direction of the waiting room. I sat for a moment and in walked Lanette, a husky 6 ft. 4 black man, outfitted top to bottom, in white scrubs. He introduced himself and through a quick tongue and a thick southern draw he instructed me to undress, put my things in the locker, and then follow him. It didn’t sound quite like my language but after taking a second to process, I understood. But then, something weird happened, and that something, was nothing. He didn’t leave, he didn’t move, he just stood there. Was he really going to stand, all 300 pounds of him with folded arms and watch me undress? This big black man was going to watch this little skinny white boy with an inferior sized weener (it must be said here that in this regard I hold my own given my proportions and skin color) get naked right in front of him. I hid my discomfort by looking around the room as I de-robed.

I had never seen anything quite like it and yet it looked exactly as I would imagine a bathhouse from the 1920s would look. The giant open space was white and gray. It was made up entirely of old tile and marble interspersed with beds similar to massage tables, and curtains that were used to hide small rooms from view that housed showers, sitting baths, and regular baths.

Once I was fully nude Lanette wrapped a towel around my waist. Okay, that was awkward but it was over, it couldn’t get any worse. Now I could look forward to the healing and cleansing waters. He lead me into a room with nothing but a big old white bath tub that was half filled with water. “Okay sir, hand me the towel, and git in”, he said, as he stood there and waited. ‘Interesting’, I thought, ‘he’s staying to watch me bathe.’ I handed him the towel and did as I was told. At first I was too emotionally uncomfortable to notice how physically hot the water was. Once I was settled he poured soap into the tub and turned on the faucet, which caused a chain reaction known as the bubble bath. “Lie back sir and hold up both yer arms.” At this point I felt it was better not to question his instructions and try and relax and submit. As soon as I held up both arms he reached for his back pocket, picked up a scrubber that amounted to a rough giant sponge, dipped it into the soapy water and began scrubbing my arms. “Now yer legs sir.” I regretfully complied. And so it was that at twenty five, twenty years later than I thought I would ever be bathed by a man (thanks dad), my ass was occupying the same space as the asses of soldiers who fought in World War 1, the asses of Al Capone’s cronies, and the asses of those battling the grip, having a bubble bath, and being bathed by a large southern black man.

After the hot wrap stage and the steam room stage, came what I was looking forward to most—the needle shower—a shower with water pressure so intense that it was painful. Lanette ran the water for me and waited just outside the room with my towel as I got in. Immediately I noticed that something was wrong, terribly wrong. The water was cold, horribly cold. I cried out,
“Lanette, the water’s cold.”
“Supposed to be that way sir. This here is your cool down.” This last stage was a terrible let down. It was fifty out and raining and I was sleeping in an unheated van that night. I wanted to emerge piping, with steam emanating from my head not with a cool down. And worst of all, everyone knows what cold water does to even the most manly of men. When I was ready Lanette shut the water and I walked towards him to retrieve my towel feeling as little as I have ever have before.

The next day I took to the track and drank a brew and gulfed down a dog. With my manhood restored I was off to Mississippi.

A Spas in Arkansas

I was visiting the tallest point in Arkansas—Mount Magazine at a whopping 2,753 feet. While on the summit I met an Arkansanian family to whom I complained about the lame view. They said that by far the best look out point in these parts was the one in back of their “lodge.” I was intrigued by this so-called lodge, and after further discussion found out that it was a mere stroll away. So I made said stroll and found a massive extravagant building extending as long as a New York City avenue block, set just in front of cliffs that looked out over the surrounding Arkansanian lakes, hills, and farmlands.

The whole scene reminded me of the Overlook hotel from Stephen King’s/Stanley Kubrick’s, “The Shining,” minus the scary little girls and a crazed Jack Nicholson. Finding the setting behind “the lodge” (actual name of the hotel) to be tranquil, I sat down on some rocks and whipped out a pen and paper. After bearing my soul in blue ink I was ready to head back up the trail and return to my car. Figuring it would be quicker, I walked through the hotel rather than going around the massive structure. Upon my entering I found a gorgeous lobby with a very soft sofa that was too enticing to pass up. I whipped out a book, melted into the fabric, and fell into dreams. It was a wonderful little nap that found me waking to a renewed energy. If only I wasn’t so damn hungry, I thought, I could spend more time here. As I departed for the hike back to the van for an emergency peanut butter sandwich I had a revelation—this was a huge, massive hotel, with many rooms, and therefore numerous human guests who require sustenance. In addition it is set in a remote location with no local businesses around. They must have food here. Perhaps I would not be able to afford their all glass restaurant that overlooked the surrounding landscape but they had to have snacks. I approached the front desk and asked how I could go about finding some munchies. But they were on to me. It may have been the drooling in the sleep in their lobby, the backpack I carried with me, or the nalgene I held, that made me appear suspect and prompted the concierge lady to ask “Sir, are you a guest at this hotel?” I figured I had to say no because it seemed quite obvious, given the circumstances. that I was an outsider and I would no doubt receive a follow up question about my name and room number. However, in that moment, I was reminded of the staunch lesson my Dad had instilled in all of us Ehrlich brothers whenever a really nice hotel beyond economic means presents itself—lose all sense of shame and locate and utilize all offered conveniences. Remembering this code I dug not-so deep into my core and found my shameless strength and said "yes of course I am." I braced for a retort, but that was it. She smiled and pointed me in the direction of the vending machines. She actually trusted me. What a moron.

With chex mix in hand I cased the joint by following the signs to the swimming pool. En route I noticed a board with a password to access the free wifi, a second lobby with a breathtaking view, comfy chairs, and a fire place, and a game room that contained my favorite arcade game “Off-Road.” As if this wasn’t enough, I came upon a massive pool, an adequately hot hot-tub (yes I of course checked the water temperature which was 101, not perfect but decent), a locker room with showers, and a work out room. Sold.

I took note of the road The Lodge was on and hiked back to the summit, and back down the other side of the mountain to retrieve my vehicle. I changed into my bathing suit in the car, entered the hotel, walked to the pool, and went for a wonderful dip in a room that boasted glass windows that overlooked all of Arkansas. I was so inspired that I even strapped on my goggles and had myself a 20 minute lap swim before seeking a soak in the hot-tub. While pruning I met many friendly individuals who told me of their love for reality TV shows like Wife Swap and were fascinated to hear that I had actually worked on MTV’s “Sex with Mom & Dad.” I spent the rest of the time talking to a teenager who reminisced about this past Halloween when he entered a Wallmart and ate 100 warheads (a type of hard candy) in one day and at his next dentist appointment emerged with 6 cavities, and this past New Years' day when he jumped on the back of his dad’s truck while it was moving and broke his collar bone. He seemed in need of guidance so I gave him some elderly words of wisdom “kid, listen, anytime you’re in the midst of a physician for something pain related, make sure you ask for diloditt, that shit will change your life.”

After an extended shower, I exchanged bills for quarters, gamed, and then returned to the lot so I could drive down to a lake a half hour away to find a nice place to retire. As soon as I plopped into the driver’s seat I quickly realized that leaving this heavenly oasis for the cold, dark, rainy lake when I had a hotel with awesome furniture and free wifi at my finger tips was borderline psychosis. I was not going anywhere. I spent the night wandering the vast universe of the web, reading by the fire, and relishing in God’s construction of a world with hotel amenities. When sleepiness struck, I succumbed to it in my room in the parking lot.

I awoke early the next morning so that I could conduct my “Y” routeen. I hit the gym for a half hour of cross country ski walking (the elliptical) and mock stair climbing, jumped in the pool for another session of laps, hopped in the shower for a scorching one, entered the lobby bathroom for a teeth brushing and a #2, and departed refreshed, renewed, and ready for the two hour drive to Hot Springs National Park.

Road trip beginnings

The first time I realized I had a problem was in the Summer of '96. My friend Jake and I, who were 14 at the time, bought tickets to some revised rendition of Disney's "Fantasia" and then, as was customary, wandered into an R-rated movie. This time it was action duo Nicholas Cage and Sean Connery teaming up against Ed Harris in the Michael Bay thriller, "The Rock." The film was impeccable but I was unable to enjoy it because in the first half hour there was a line of dialogue that deeply troubled me.

It is uttered in a scene where special agent Paxton (William Forsynth) and veteran FBI director Womack (John Spencer) are scheming about what to do with their archrival, Mason (Connery). They had held the poor man captive for many years without the right to a fair trial due to his impressive espionage skills, but in a twist of fate they now may need his help in diffusing a hostage situation on Alcatraz, AKA “The Rock.” The elder Womack is trying to convince Paxton that they should remove him from his cell and try and utilize his abilities to save the day, but Paxton thinks that despite his age, Mason is just too dangerous. Womack tries to make his case with the line,

"He is my age now for christ's sake. I have to wake up three times at night just to take a piss!"

That’s when a feeling of deep confusion and panic overwhelmed me. At the time I was seeing this movie I had just been bar-mitzvahed. I had just begun my path of manhood, and until this moment I thought that my three to five trips per night to the bathroom was a shared human plight. Peoples' nightly #1 schedules had never come up in a conversation in which I was present so I believed I was the norm in this regard. At this point in my life I had already contracted tendonitus in both knees destroying what certainly would have been a promising career as a distance runner, my pitching arm was in dire straights, I had tennis elbow, and now apparently I suffered from frequent urination. Over the years some of those ailments have waned but the frequent pissing at night symptoms remain fully intact.

At my parent's place, my Brooklyn apartment, or any other standard living quarters the problem is a minor nuisance. However, I recently opted to change my shelter to that of a soccer mom van, which I packed with clothing, camping gear, and a little mattress, and drove to the warm and cozy Southwest where I would sunbathe by day and gaze at the stars by night. However, I noticed that as the further south I got the weather was not changing. In fact, when I arrived in Amarillo Texas strung out from a 750 mile day, I hit a minor snowstorm and passed a thermometer that read 24 degrees f. It was cold, late, and dark.

I sought out the back of a Best Western parking lot, taped some sheets up to the windows, juiced the heat for a moment, and crawled into my sleeping bag to retire outfitted in every article of clothing I had packed. I grabbed my one empty poland spring bottle and hugged it like a teddy bear before dozing off. At about 2 am it was time to excrete some of the pepsi I had consumed much earlier and so I grabbed my plastic sleeping companion, lined up my hole with his, and went to work. When I sealed it shut I took stock of the situation and realized there was only another 8 ounces of empty volume left. I passed back out and awoke again at 4:00 am and again with an urgent need to relieve myself. This was not good. I knew I should have gotten the can over the 20oz. soda. Going outside would mean losing valuable heat from the car, needing to dig out my sandals and possibly alerting the cameras, which I imagined were monitoring the Best Western lot, that there was a homeless man with a terrible bladder lurking on their premise. Plus, the expedition would no doubt get my nerves pumping and destroy any chance of a full night of sleep. I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. I narrowly escaped an overflow, sealed the bottle and passed back out praying for at least a few hours before a next wake up. I lasted only another two hours. The jig was up. I gathered my sleep deprived self and watched the sunrise while letting my stream flow onto the tire of a benz.

As the sun began to show signs of its emergence I looked out into the surrounding lands and saw that there was only vast emptiness with a light sprinkle of snow precipitating down upon it . For as far as the eye could see there was nothing, just space. I imagine the nothingness may be a pleasant place to be for a monk as there are no distractions from the depths of the psyche, but for a neurotic paranoid northeastern Jew, sleeping and now pissing in the lot of a Best Western, with no clear destination, shivering from the cold, and sleep deprived, the last thing you want to be is alone with your thoughts, and that indeed was where I was. However troubling the moment was, it seemed that I had already encountered the purpose of this expedition – to learn to be okay with just myself, pitiful bladder included.

NYC Department of Finance Responds

Dear Sir / Madam:

We have received your web request for a hearing on your parking summons. A hold will be placed on this violation, so no penalty will accrue pending this action.

Based on the violation, we are offering you the opportunity to pay a reduced fine in the amount of $32.00. You have 5 days to accept this offer. Once you accept this offer you must pay within 30 days to the address listed below.

If you do not wish to accept this reduced offer and you would like an Administrative Law Judge to review your case, simply do nothing. Your case will be reviewed in the next 30 days. If you are found guilty, you will no longer be eligible for the reduced amount and must pay the full fine as well as any penalties.

Parking Desperation: Adventures in NYC Automobile Ownership

11/18/08
Name: Nathan H Ehrlich
Address: 177 Degraw St Apt #2
Brooklyn, NY 11231
Your hearing request was for the following item(s):

Agency Item
------------------------------ -----------------------------------
PVO 1259937290

Your statement why the ticket should be dismissed:
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The Hydrant was covered in sidewalk trash bags and furniture and was not visible to me. Therefore every ticket I received at this spot I feel should be voided. Also note that my car was towed after several tickets were accrued.

_____________________________________________________________________
12/3/08
Name: Nathan H Ehrlich
Address: 177 Degraw St Apt. #2
Brooklyn, NY 11231
Your hearing request was for the following item(s):

Agency Item
------------------------------ -----------------------------------
PVO 1269398088

Your statement why the ticket should be dismissed:
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I was parked legally. The officer was not justified in giving me a ticket. It was Sunday and I was parked next to a meter. I do not have proof because I did not see the ticket on my windshield until I had left the area. Even if I had I do not own a digital camera. But I was not parked illegally. The legal system is innocent until proven guilty. If you have proof that I was in this spot illegally than I would be more than glad to take a look at it. But until then I maintain that I was parked in a legal spot.
____________________________________________________________________
12/22/08
Name: Nathan H Ehrlich
Address: 177 Degraw St Apt. #2
Brooklyn, NY 11231

Your hearing request was for the following item(s):

Agency Item
------------------------------ -----------------------------------
PVO 7620016030

Your statement why the ticket should be dismissed:
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The law as I understand it is that one's vehicle must be six feet from a fire hydrant. Well I as in total abidance of this law and yet I still not only received a ticket but also a towing. The city got plenty of money from me off my towing as it took me a few days to realize that I had been towed. You can look this up in the records at the Brooklyn Navy Yard - my bill was over 220 bucks. I ask and beg of you not to take more money from me in this trying economic time. I was within my rights to park where I had parked. Thank you for your understanding in this matter.
____________________________________________________________________
2/7/08
Name: Nathan H Ehrlich
Address: 177 Degraw St Apt. #2
Brooklyn, NY 11231
Your hearing request was for the following item(s):

Agency Item
------------------------------ -----------------------------------
PVO 1264141063

Your statement why the ticket should be dismissed:
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I realize I have a couple of ticket defenses in already. Generally speaking I think 99.9% of the tickets handed out in NYC are done so correctly according to the laws and regulations. However, I believe it's just been one of those unlucky years for me when parking officers have made an incorrect call on the legality of my parked vehicle. In regard to this ticket in particular I do not recall the incident nor the ticket itself and believe that inclement weather may have stripped the ticket from my car. In addition I received no notice in the mail. I am happy to pay the fee but I ask that you remove the amount of 75$ which clearly has gone up due to some late fee and reduce the sum to the normal 45$ as I was unaware that I had obtained such a ticket.

Apologies to Fabio

There was this
Girl who was a friend of my older brother's
And she stopped eating
So they put her in the hospital
my parents said she was very sick
"anecksia," I thought they said

she came over once
and despite the sign on my door that read
"keep out"
I found her in my room
Playing with my friend that I named sticky
Because his feet had a wet glue
that stuck to my hands
And now
he wouldn't eat a single worm
or a cricket
and those were his favorite foods
clearly that bitch was contagious.

And then
it happened
I awoke one morning
to find him
Shriveled up in the corner of his glass cage
Amongst an intricate landscape design
Of little rocks, pine cones, chestnuts, and ripped grass.

He was
Lying on his back
With his four little feet
Now dried and shriveled up
Stretched out into the air
As if he was waiting for God to pick him up

He was
The cutest green lizard
Now
He was dead
Another casualty of this harsh world

I cried for days on end
That was it,
He was gone,

but then
my parents told me all about reincarnation
And as it turned out
they were right

He came back to life in two and a half days as my turtle
who I named Fabio after the Italian Model
because I was allergic to milk
and was deeply inspired by margarine that tasted like butter
that even came as a spray

I fell in love with him real quick
Because he was fun to play with
I'd take him out of his tank and
He would sprint frantically all over the house
Driving my dog Nikki crazy

He was the fastest turtle I'd ever saw
he knew there were worlds out there
Beyond his cage that needed to be explored
His speed, agility, and curiosity were tough to temper
And so my family made a rule
That he never be allowed to leave the tank

In celebration of Fabio's one month birthday
My parents took us on a family trip
To some place with games, clowns and Ferris wheels
Leaving our housecleaner Gloria to care for our home

She was stupid though and broke the rules
While washing the previous day's salad bowls and meat platters
Gloria took it upon herself to add the dirty tank to her pile of dishes
and put the little guy in a Tupper ware next to the sink
without a top

Unlike Sticky, Fabio had an unquenchable hunger
He could not just sit and watch his favorite green vegetables
Disappear into a black whole
And so unbeknownst to Gloria
he heroically followed the delicious delicacies
jumping into the sink
and down the drain
to rescue them
And in that instant
Gloria flicked the switch and he was disposed

It was a shameful death
His last breath was taken
In a confined space with rotten milk,
discarded tuna fish, and
chicken fat
Even executed prisoners are treated to a better last meal
And a more pleasant conclusion

Recently I began reading Carl Jung
Who said that we are all part of an eternal collective unconscious
And I became excited because now I can finally apologize

First to you, Sticky
Can you hear me?
I'm sorry
For letting that stupid girl
That couldn't read
give you anorexia
And to you
Fabio
If you're listening
I want to apologize
for naming you after that talentedless
asshole Italian Model

And for putting you in the care of a person who couldn't even
Keep my matching socks straight,
stole from my piggy bank and
always managed to lose my favorite t-shirts.

Stimulus Bickering

We are in the unfortunate position of having to blindly trust what our new leader is telling us - that we need to allow the government to spend our money. ~800 billion dollars of our money that is, and that's before interest. In order to save the economy Obama & company are asking that the stimulus be spent on various non-profit projects such as updating schools, implementing green energy buildings, and constructing and improving roads and bridges. This will create jobs and get the wheels of the economy spinning—sounds reasonable enough. But the argument against the stimulus is viable as well; it's unproven, untested, and uncertain. On the other hand it is to be expected because this is the first time this nation has ever faced circumstances such as these. So let's see what the opponents of this option have come up with. After all they've had a few months to at least make their theories known to the public.

The first option is to use the money to cut taxes. This was one the Bush administration implemented when the situation wasn't as perilous in January of 2008 costing us roughly $146 billion. The stimulus in the form of a tax cut came about when the economy was slipping and I, as well as many Americans were broke. Shockingly enough the six hundred dollars did not exactly prompt me, and my compatriots to hop off our couches and head for the mall. If we spend the stimulus on tax breaks alone, a large portion of that money will vanish into diminished accounts for safekeeping and will do little to bolster any growth. Due to the seriousness of the situation, which is evidenced by the fact that we lost over half a million jobs last month and companies are going bankrupt at an accelerated rate, we cannot afford to let money go stale.

The second alternative option being suggested is doing nothing. Literally, that is one of the options that has been put forward by those opposed to the stimulus. I'm actually an avid user of this method so I'll use myself as the case study. I've tried it for getting in shape, I've tried it for getting a job, I've tried it for getting rich, I've tried it for cleaning up my apartment, and I've tried it for reading War and Peace. Now let's look at the results: I'm still broke, my apartment is a dump, I can't run a mile without coughing up a lung, I'm unemployed, and have never read a page of Tolstoy.

So to recap: Our options are three fold:

#1 An intelligent but questionable something
#2 Nothing
#3 And something that clearly won't work but has to be said because there can be no party where a certain party doesn't use the words ' tax breaks'

In conclusion:
for you #3 supporters - broken records don't spin
for you #2 supporters - I find your laziness becoming, but come take a nap with me and let the rich men work
for you #1 supporters - you've accepted it sometimes a Bud Light is the only thing that's on tap. Now buy your tables' next round

And if you're off the charts, especially if you're a politician, then clue us all in because those are the only options being reported.