We had been in our new house for a couple of weeks and for whatever reason I ended up leaving the house a little bit after 8 a.m. one Thursday morning. I had a ticket because it was street sweeping day and I didn’t realize it. So, I had the ticket and forgot. Four days before it was due I remembered, wrote the check, and mailed the $20 fine to the City of Denver. No worries. It was postmarked before the due date.
Three weeks later I get another fine. This time it’s a late fee! What? A twenty dollar late fee for something I postmarked 4 days before the due date and which should have only taken a maximum of 48 hours to get to the right office? I called the City and they said that they didn’t get the check into their system until the 26th. That was 2 full days AFTER the due date so my payment was late. The woman wasn’t budging. FINE! I paid the $20. My simple $20 parking ticket had now turned into a $40 fine.
I just opened a collection notice on the $40 I already paid and that they actually show being paid on the notice! Now, just how is it that they can charge me $20 on $40 I’ve already paid????? And what recourse do I have with the City government that has now charged me $60 for a ticket that was initially only $20? They show that I paid the money right on the collection notice. They are just charging me for collection. How are they having to do anything to collect money they already collected? I’m so angry and confused. Fucking parking Nazi logic.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Friday, July 21, 2006
Ramblings about history and the present
Childhood memories are often the remnants of stories told by parents and grandparents of their youth. In many ways it’s the stories that we hear as children of their past that root us in our family and our sense of belonging. I know that the stories that I heard of my grandparents and great-grandparent still are important and relevant in my own life. They give me a perspective of where the world has been that help me compare it to where the world is now.
When my grandparents were in their early twenties the World War II was about to take place. The world had seen atrocity before, but was naïve to what was about to come. I think somehow being told by someone who experienced it rooted me in the idea that it was real and that all the images that I saw in books and on film were real. It was a perspective that rooted me in history. I knew it from first hand accounts.
Today as I watch the way the Mideast seems to be crumbling into chaos at the hands of the power hungry it scares me. It scares me a lot, because I know the history and I know how a simple event can tumble the whole world and all the tensions into massive war. I know that it was real, and I know that people really died. I know that what is happening in Iraq and now in Lebanon are real and that people are really dying and it not only saddens me but scares me. I do not want those kinds of stories to tell my grandchildren. I don’t want them to have to be rooted to whatever tragedy we are about to experience, but what history never gave me the lesson on how one person can stop it.
When my grandparents were in their early twenties the World War II was about to take place. The world had seen atrocity before, but was naïve to what was about to come. I think somehow being told by someone who experienced it rooted me in the idea that it was real and that all the images that I saw in books and on film were real. It was a perspective that rooted me in history. I knew it from first hand accounts.
Today as I watch the way the Mideast seems to be crumbling into chaos at the hands of the power hungry it scares me. It scares me a lot, because I know the history and I know how a simple event can tumble the whole world and all the tensions into massive war. I know that it was real, and I know that people really died. I know that what is happening in Iraq and now in Lebanon are real and that people are really dying and it not only saddens me but scares me. I do not want those kinds of stories to tell my grandchildren. I don’t want them to have to be rooted to whatever tragedy we are about to experience, but what history never gave me the lesson on how one person can stop it.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Scentses....
I’ve been putting off writing a blog post, and I’m not sure why. I keep thinking that I need to figure out a topic, but really that will come if I start writing. It always does and then I end up erasing the nonsense that I’ve written before and have a nice little post. Acually, I’ve been working on one post, but it’s taking a long time so I just need something in the mean time.
The sense of smell. I’ve been thinking about this topic for awhile now and trying to figure out what I want to write about it. You know, for me it’s just about as important as my sight. It’s a big part of my memory and my connection to people and places. It’s a big piece of recollection for me. If I see something and there is no particular smell associated then I only have my sight and maybe some sort of sound to connect me. But if there is a smell, something specific, it makes the memory go from being very flat to making it pop and become real again. I can remember the way my grandfather would smell after he showered and first opened the bathroom door. The steam from the shower would collect the scent of his shaving cream and deodorant and push through the house. It puts me there and I can remember him so much more vividly. There are so many people I remember this way~ by the way they smell as much as by their face or the sound of their voices. I don’t know if it’s this way for everyone, but I’m glad it’s this way for me. I like that a scent can invoke a memory and make it real again. I have some really enjoyable memories that are just that much better because of it.
See, just starting to write always ends up in a decent blog. Weird, but nice.
The sense of smell. I’ve been thinking about this topic for awhile now and trying to figure out what I want to write about it. You know, for me it’s just about as important as my sight. It’s a big part of my memory and my connection to people and places. It’s a big piece of recollection for me. If I see something and there is no particular smell associated then I only have my sight and maybe some sort of sound to connect me. But if there is a smell, something specific, it makes the memory go from being very flat to making it pop and become real again. I can remember the way my grandfather would smell after he showered and first opened the bathroom door. The steam from the shower would collect the scent of his shaving cream and deodorant and push through the house. It puts me there and I can remember him so much more vividly. There are so many people I remember this way~ by the way they smell as much as by their face or the sound of their voices. I don’t know if it’s this way for everyone, but I’m glad it’s this way for me. I like that a scent can invoke a memory and make it real again. I have some really enjoyable memories that are just that much better because of it.
See, just starting to write always ends up in a decent blog. Weird, but nice.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
saying one thing a lot
It's hot. Really hot. I was never this hot when I lived in GA because they believe in A/C. It's really freakin' hot. Ridiculously hot. It was One Hundred and THREE today. 103!!! That is hot. Really just dangerously fucking hot. It's just hot. Damn. It's hot. I hope I remember how damned hot I am right now when it's like 10 degrees this winter, because it's just hot. Damn. It's hot.
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