(e:dragonlady7) ,

If you and (e:zobar) want to really get at the old bitch next door, I can bring over about 1500 pounds of grass clippings to add to your compost pile. Not sure if you remember the muppets other show, fraggle rock, and the all knowing trash heap, we could build one in your back yard. I can also get as much dirt as you may need to mix with the compost. All of this is free, of course. Also, if the town forces you to get rid of the compist pile, we could probably take care of that, too. [My other cousin] has a 1 acre swamp that we are in the process of filling in, and we could move the compost to the swamp, if it becomes necessary. I would love to see the look on the bitches face when I show up with a truck loaded with grass clippings!! By the way, I apologize if I butchered the spelling of your name.



- [My cousin]

and that's all there is to it. I just got off the phone with the building inspector re: the Compost Heap of the Apocalypse with what I felt was a reasonable compromise that would address his fire hazard concerns. [I offered to build a firewall out of hollow concrete blocks between the compost heap and the garage, which we agreed in principle adequately addressed the fire hazard.] He said nope, 3' from the garage and 3' from the property line, regardless of actual danger of fire.

I then went on to explain what she did with the last inspector who came by, calling his office every day for a week after he signed off on it, and eventually filing his inbox with false statements. He asked if I would want a compost heap next to my property. I said if she didn't like it where it is, she was far less likely to like it where it will be. I asked if he had any better suggestions for where to put it. He came up empty. I asked if moving it was the only solution. He said code is code, and moving it is the only solution. I sighed and said would you mind at least coming by next Monday or Tuesday when somebody will be around? He said no problem.

So it looks like it's going 3' from the front of the garage and 3' from the fence. Code is code, and if she's still angry, at least she's got someone to call every day for a week.

- Z

Yesterday was a busy day for me. I went with my very talkative aunt to collect a couch from my cousin in Rochester. While we were chatting, she told me a funny story about how very small Buffalo is. We live next door to two people who are completely unrelated to us. And yet, it turns out that my cousin dated the guy once, a long time ago, and furthermore, my grandmother dated his grandfather. Weird.

Then I was the designated driver for my buddy Tom's stag party. The party proper was pretty good- a large group of old Italian men drank beer and raised several hundred dollars to send Tom off. We went out afterwards and I had a pretty good time, though I think Tom's fiancee put him in a somewhat difficult position by forbidding him outright from visiting the Canadian ballet [I was not too broken up about it, but predictably it caused some friction] and also calling his cell about half a dozen times throughout the evening. Early on, Chris declared that we were out to get as close to arrested as possible without actually getting arrested [which would understandably be detrimental to his career as a lawyer] but I nevertheless sensed a not-insignificant amount of bad vibes coming from his direction when I lit up a doobie on the very crowded and isolated patio of 67 West. [It was worth it, though, just for Gwyll's triple-take when he eventually realized the cork-tipped 100mm filtered cigarette was not exactly kosher.] After a quick stop at Louies, I still got home before 4am, though not by much. I feel bad for Tom, who drank an enormous amount of alcohol, and Chris, who matched him and has to write a 15-page legal brief today.

When I came home from the stag, I found a citation for my compost pile (e:zobar,44) (e:zobar,45) - this time from the Town of Tonawanda, because the heap, which is approximately as dry as a wrung-out sponge, is an apparent fire hazard. I am quite annoyed as the letter, dated 1 July, only arrived yesterday and it seems to suggest that the inspector will return tomorrow. Furthermore, I can't even tell whether an inspection was made in the first place. This is seriously cramping my chill.

- Z

So I had a power lunch today with Maxwell Truth who is trying to put together an Internet-based television station with the help of yours truly. We agree that it is the wave of the future and that we must act quickly. We tentatively agreed to start once we signed up seven shows, one for each day of the week, for a ten-week season. I suggested that there are many talented and interesting people who would love to be on TV, so if this thing gets off the ground, the plan is to solicit pilot episodes from the public within the next couple of months. The shows would be self-produced and on any topic; we would contract with the best shows for a full ten-week season with an option to continue. In return, the producers will receive publicity and, tentatively, a cut of the advertising revenue according to the show's popularity. I know there are a couple video people on here - I would be very interested to hear your thoughts on this and to gauge interest.

Re: (e:dragonlady7,31)



Two of my coworkers made these, and have been selling them in front of the arena before home games. Larry Quinn liked them so much that he asked us to turn it into a video clip that we ran on the Jumbotron.

- Z

So (e:dragonlady7) 's parents left for home this morning, leaving a number of unfinished projects finished and unstarted projects started. I wish that we had Hung Out more and Made Them Work less, but ... that is how things go sometimes. It is a shame that my scooter's tire is still flat [hm, it doesn't look like I posted about the Saga. Regardless- the flat tire is still thus] because Mr. (e:dragonlady7) is both a gearhead and a funny old man who would have a blast tearing up the neighborhood with it. Oh well, he'll have to come back later in the summer. He did manage to have a chat with a Ms. Lavell, who rides the same model scooter as I [though in a more tasteful minty green], and who as far as I know constitutes the entirety of the Buffalo chapter of Scooter Queers Riding Everywhere and More. I guess they [she?] are having a Pride Ride this weekend.

The paper this week is an enormous 96 pages, as it is our Summer Guide. In retrospect, this was a terrible issue for me to decide to expand our multimedia offerings . Certain unnamed (e:peeps) may be pleased to know that our music editor considers Gnarls Barkley's St. Elsewhere to be 'the first must-have album to pump on the car stereo this summer,' and I have come to agree. My column is on autopilot this week, having been submitted by an anonymous former staffer.

Now that all is once again quiet at 40 Hartford, it is time to ...change ...my ...journal music? Yes!

This is Gator Tango from the Wild Things soundtrack, composed and performed by George S Clinton, who is joined by guitarist Greg Camp of Smash Mouth, and bassist Mark Sandman and saxophonist Dana Colley of Morphine. gather:0770627001149120625

- Z