An Open Letter to Bus Stop Boy
Dear Bus Stop Boy,
Just because I wear
A little pink dress
And cowboy boots,
Does not mean that
I want you staring
At my chest.
It doesn’t mean
That I want you
Looking more
At my cleavage
Than at my
Mascara laced
Eyelashes
Or at my black
Outlined eyelids.
It means that
I don’t need
Your jacket when
I get chilly
Because the leather
In my boots
Are keeping me
From shaking
Too badly in
30 degree weather.
Whether or not
You know this,
I’m not sure,
But I really enjoy
Attending a women’s college
Some days because
That means I
Don’t have to be
Hounded by
Your nose sniffing
Out my insecurities.
You may be a great
Guy and all,
Teaching little ones
About Jesus,
But JESUS,
I don’t need
Your saving grace
All up in my face.
The reason I let you
Touch my hand
Four times in 10 minutes
Was because
I was cold.
It was not because
I wanted you
To become
Touchy-feely.
I’ve had enough grabby-stealy
My heart kind of men
For a lifetime.
You said one thing
And it threw me off.
You said that I
Was a happy person,
And that I looked
Happy all the time.
Maybe it was because
I was wearing my
Little pink dress
And my cowboy boots,
But my hair and makeup
Were done up like
Adele.
Don’t you know,
Bus Stop Boy,
That Adele only sings
Of heartbreak.
That she is beautiful
And lonely.
I am a Texas gal,
With a killer smile
And a cheap fake laugh.
But you cannot
Purchase my heart
With a bus ticket
And staring at my chest
Until I stop to rest
My icy hand beneath
Your blanket warm one.
There was no fuzzy feeling
And there was no
Peeling back my layers
Because I’m an open book,
But Dear Bus Stop Boy,
Stop trying to write
My story.
Stop trying to force
Yourself into
My cast list.
You get the gist.
Go home, teach.
Learn, and preach.
But let go of me
And all the ice
And all the fire
Burning deep down
Inside of me.
Dear Bus Stop Boy,
I hope your bike
Got you home safely.
I will see you
Again, maybe.
Or I won’t.
Either way,
You won’t recognize me
Without my
Little pink dress
And my cowboy boots.
-Seraphine
What’s in the Trunk?
Entrapment
I was traveling in the right lane headed eastbound on I-40 through the state of Arizona when I noticed that a police officer was rapidly approaching in the left lane. There was one car in front of me. A semi-truck was in front of that car. I checked my speedometer gauge; the needle was set on 73 miles per hour. The officer was in the left lane traveling at a speed that placed his vehicle just behind my bumper, preventing me from changing lanes. The driver of the car in front of mine approached the slower moving semi-truck and turned on his left turn indicator to change lanes from the right to the left lane so that he could pass the semi-truck. Then he changed lanes and began passing the semi-truck while the speed of the police officer’s vehicle remained constant, still preventing me from changing lanes. Meanwhile, I was getting closer to the semi-truck in front of my car. I looked in the driver side mirror to see if it was clear to change lanes. I turned on my left turn indicator and the officer slowed down enough to allow for a safe lane change. The semi-truck was traveling at around the same speed as I was traveling, so I was slowly passing it. I looked into the rearview mirror and noticed that the officer had sped up and was now tailgating me. I was about one quarter of the way past the rear of the semi-truck when the semi-truck swerved over the line slightly into my lane and then returned to its lane. I looked at the driver side mirror of the semi-truck and saw the driver of the semi-truck in it, so I turned on my left turn indicator again to let him know that there was someone still passing him.
I looked into the rearview mirror and the officer was still tailgating me. To keep my vehicle from being hit by the officer I had to increase my speed; I looked down at my speedometer, watching the needle move over the speed limit. The speedometer read 76, 77, 78 and still, the officer wasn’t slowing down to create a safe distance between us. I approached the front of the semi-truck and switched the turn indicator from left to right to let the semi-truck driver know that I was going to attempt to change lanes after I passed him. I switched lanes and gained about a car length in front of the semi-truck when the officer turned on his flashing lights and then cut off the semi-truck. I immediately pulled over to the side of the road and the officer followed me to the side of the road. He parked his vehicle approximately a car length behind mine.
The Stop
The officer approached my vehicle on the passenger side. I rolled down the electric window. The officer asked for my license, registration and insurance.
I replied, “This is a rental car and all I have is the rental agreement and my driver’s license.”
Officer Cortez informed me, “I pulled you over because you had something dangling from the rearview mirror and because I clocked you at 78 while you were passing that semi-truck.”
Officer Cortez asked, “What was with the left turn indicator, because there was nowhere for you to turn off.”
I stated, “I was signaling the driver of the semi-truck that I was in the passing lane. I learned that at night you flash your high beams to let the truck drivers know you’re in the lane next to them so that they don’t accidentally change into your lane while you’re passing them.”
Officer Cortez asked, “Why were you speeding?”
I replied, “I was just trying to safely pass the semi-truck because he had swerved into my lane. I thought it was okay to speed up in order to safely pass a vehicle.”
Officer Cortez responded, “Okay, I see.” He looked at the things dangling from the rearview mirror. One was a stained glass cross and the other was a rosary. Officer Cortez asked me, “What’s with the rosary? Are you Catholic?”
I replied, “No, I’m Christian.”
He quickly retorted, “So, you just like crosses?”
I said, “Yes I do. I believe in God and I’m traveling with the Lord.”
Officer Cortez replied, “I see. So, why are you traveling through Arizona?”
I told Cortez, “Well, I’m in the process of moving to San Francisco and I’m heading to Albuquerque to get another load of stuff.”
Officer Cortez asked, “Why are you using a rental car to move? Isn’t that expensive? Why didn’t you get a UHAUL or something?”
I replied, “Not really. It was only like $300 for a week and I had initially rented a truck but it broke down when I was halfway to Albuquerque.”
Officer Cortez asked, “Oh yeah? What kind of truck?”
I said, “A GMC Canyon.”
He said, “I’ve never heard of one of those. What was that like?”
I replied, “It’s like GMC’s version of a Chevy S-10 and the seats were really uncomfortable.”
Officer Cortez then inquired, “Why didn’t you get another truck?”
I replied, “When I got into Albuquerque the rental car place was all out of trucks because of the holidays. This is what they gave me.”
Officer Cortez asked, “Where is your car? Why aren’t you using it?”
I told him that, “I sold my vehicle in San Francisco just before the holidays.”
He asked, “Why did you sell it?”
I stated, “It was going to be too expensive with the cost of parking and gas and San Francisco has great public transportation.”
Officer Cortez asked, “What kind of car was it?”
I replied, “A ’99 Ford Explorer, V-8, and the gas mileage that it gets is okay but not that great.”
Officer Cortez asked, “So, are you going to get a UHAUL or something when you get back to Albuquerque?”
I replied, “I don’t know. I am thinking about it. I already had to extend the rental agreement and if it takes me awhile to pack up in Albuquerque then I would have pay to between $600 and $800 depending on when I returned it, but if I try to leave the car in Albuquerque instead of taking it back to San Fran then it would cost me a whole lot more and I don’t think I can afford that.”
Officer Cortez asked, “Why would it cost you more to leave it in Albuquerque?”
I informed him that, “The rental car company charges you what’s called, a drop fee, if you want to leave the vehicle in a different location than what was on the rental agreement and that it was really expensive. That’s why I didn’t leave it there when the other GMC broke down.”
Officer Cortez asked, “How are you paying for this? Do you have a job?”
I responded, “I was a barback at two different bars in Albuquerque up until about a month or two ago. I have been saving money for the last few years so that I could move out of Albuquerque.”
Officer Cortez asked, “What are you planning on doing for a job in San Francisco.”
I said, “I have an associate’s degree in Multimedia Development and I already obtained an office out there. I got a great a deal on it.”
Officer Cortez then asked, “Where are you staying out there? Do you have any family out there?”
I responded, “That my office has a couch and that I spent the holidays at my brother’s apartment sleeping on his couch too.”
Officer Cortez asked, “Where are you staying in Albuquerque? Do you have family out there?”
I replied, “My dad and my uncle live out there but I’m currently staying at my fiancé’s. She is sick right now and waiting for me at our apartment.”
Officer Cortez said, “Okay, well I want you to exit your vehicle while I write you this ticket. You should probably grab your jacket.”
I declined to grab my jacket and said that I would be all right. It was windy and cold but I figured that it shouldn’t take that long to write a ticket. I was wearing a khaki brown t-shirt and pair of khaki brown corduroys. The shirt had a graphic of military dog tags on it with a cross on the dog tag and the back read “Soldier of Christ.” I was wearing blue eyeglasses, a handmade rope cross, a rosary and a turquoise necklace with a shark tooth on it. I followed the officer over to his vehicle and he sat on the passenger side with the door open. Officer Cortez began to question me further.
Officer Cortez asked about my brother in San Francisco and how long he had been living there. I told him that he had been there since high school but to make things clear I should have said he was like my brother as I am only child by birth. Cortez asked me about my fiancé and what she did for a living. I told him that she had been working at a bank up until about a month ago and was looking for jobs in San Francisco. Cortez asked me when I was going to open up for business. I told him that I was in the process of dissolving a New Mexico CRS and was trying to figure out what I needed to do to get a California CRS established. I told him that I shared a building with a music studio at 2200 Cesar Chavez also known as Army street in San Francisco and I had already paid for two months on the lease. I reiterated that I had received a really good deal because my friend that I considered a brother was the property manager at the building. It was windy and cold that morning and I kept putting my hands in my pocket. Officer Cortez kept telling me to pull my hands out of my pockets and stated that it was for his safety. I told him that while I was moving most of my computer equipment in that I had made a lot of contacts with the musicians that recorded there and I had a lot of good leads. He pointed out that he saw a suitcase in the backseat and asked me what was in the trunk since I had my suitcase in the car. I said I was bringing back some bags of dirty clothes to wash in Albuquerque. He finished writing the warning citation and explained that it was just a warning citation and that I didn’t need to do anything to follow up on it. Then he wished me good luck and handed me the citation. I turned and began walking away. I was about 5-6 feet from the bumper of my vehicle when he called out to me.
Officer Cortez said, “Do you mind if I ask you one more question?”
I stopped and looked at him and did not reply.
He then asked, “What do you know about medical marijuana smuggling?”
I replied, “I don’t know anything about that.”
He then asked, “Well do you mind if I search your vehicle?”
I replied, “I absolutely mind. Something dangling in the rearview is not probable cause to search a vehicle.”
Officer Cortez responded, “Well now I’m detaining you Mr. Tomlin and you are not free to go.”
He then began badgering me, “I’m going to get a dog out here and we’ll see. Where’s he going to hit?”
Bewildered, I replied, “Hit?”
He said, “Yeah hit. Where are the drugs at? The doors, the trunk? Where is the dog going to indicate?”
I said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Officer Cortez then radioed for a K-9 unit. He was told that the unit was unreachable and that he should try calling him on his cellphone. Officer Cortez called the K-9 unit using his cellphone. Then Officer Cortez said, “Well it’s going to be a little while on the K-9. In the meantime, I have an officer that lived in San Francisco and he is going to come and ask you some questions.”
Approximately 5 minutes later two more patrol cars arrived at the scene. Officer Cortez spoke with the other officers for a couple minutes. Then Officer Cortez introduced J. Waterman as a DPS officer who used to live in San Francisco. I did not get the third officer’s name. J. Waterman explained that Cortez had briefed him on what was going on and that he was going to ask me some questions about San Francisco. We spoke about my office location and the fact that Cesar Chavez St. was referred to as Army Street. He asked me about my plans for work in San Francisco. He asked about the rental car and the agreement. While we were waiting for the K-9 unit to arrive one of the officers called the 1-800 number on the rental agreement and then wrote down the direct number to the location where I rented the vehicle from and called that number. The third officer had to tell me to keep my hands out of my pocket as well. The cold was getting to me. The K-9 unit finally arrived at the scene.
The Search
The dog was led over to my vehicle and started scratching everywhere around the vehicle. The dog scratched at the trunk, all the doors and the front of the vehicle including its hood. J. Waterman tried to open the driver’s side door but the vehicle was locked. He walked over to me and felt my pockets. The keys were in my right pants pocket. He took them out and opened the trunk. All the officers looked at one another and then J. Waterman walked over to me and asked me where the keys to the suitcases are. I said nothing. J. Waterman walked back over to the officers and they appeared to be in agreement on something. J. Waterman walked over to Officer Cortez’s vehicle and did something inside the vehicle. I exclaimed, “I would like a search warrant please.” J. Waterman looked at me and said with a cocky demeanor, “There ain’t no such thing as search warrants in Arizona!” J. Waterman returned to the trunk of the vehicle leaned in and made some kind of a motion with the other officers huddled up around him. The officers all looked back at me with huge grins. J. Waterman walked over and placed me under arrest. He then took me over to his patrol car and sat me in the back seat. I was transported to the Arizona DPS office. They now know what’s in the trunk. What they wanted to know all along and had intended to find out from the very moment I was pulled over even if it meant trampling on the Constitution.
-Phillip Tomlin
What the frac?
No I am not speaking like I was in the original ‘Battlestar Galactica’ uttering a curse word.
I am on about the abbreviation of ‘fracking’ which for me is perhaps the most important issue of the day.
Hydraulic fracturing is basically a process of extracting natural gas by drilling wells and pumping fracking fluid into them to increase the ground pressure which then fractures the surrounding bedrock to release the natural gas is contained.
There are an estimated 500,000 fracking wells across the USA and many times more waiting to be tapped.
Each gas well requires on average 400 tanker trucks to deliver and extract supplies to and from the sites. It takes anywhere from 1-8 million gallons of water to complete each fracturing.
Fracking liquid (sand, water and chemicals on average 40,000 gallons) is then pressure injected into the wells. Some of the chemicals used are very carcinogenic. Among them are radium, methanol, uranium, lead, mercury, ethylene glycol to name just a few.
All proven carcinogens.
The math is mind blowing. If you take the amount of wells multiplied by the amount of gallons of water used and the amount of times a single well can be fracked , its astronomical. A well can be fracked up to 18 times.
500,000 x 8 million gallons of water x 18 = 72 TRILLION gallons of water and 360 BILLION gallons of chemicals.
Scary numbers by anyone’s standards.
Any normal thinking person can come to a logical conclusion. The amount of chemicals used and the fact that oil and gas companies have little or no regulations must contribute to the underlying concerns of people living near these wells. The drinking water around these wells are 17 times higher in methane than elsewhere. Only about 30-50% of the fracking fluid is recovered. The rest is left down the well where it contaminates water tables etc. as its toxic and not biodegradable. What is recovered is left in open air pits to evaporate. Unfortunately the evaporation releases even more chemicals called VOC’S or volatile organic compounds which contaminate the air and create ground level ozone.
This is yet another example of the oil and gas industry getting away with massive profits and leaving the rest of us to clean up their shit and take on the losses.
It can be done safer but that means more cost for the near sighted get rich at all costs evil pricks that unfortunately have more wealth and power than we do.
We need to call an end to this. NOW.
-TDB-
October 5th, 2013
Safer?
Smuggling a clear glass bottle filled with a potent brown elixir across two states lines at twelve years old, by the time I got home I was filled with sense of excitement and a subtle sense of accomplishment. Removing the carefully wrapped vessel from my luggage, I revealed the label to my best friend, as we both exclaimed in hushed tone, “Hennessy!” Having only heard the name in 2pac songs, we figured if he drank it, it must be good.
Unaware, at the age of twelve , of what mixed well with a fine cognac, I borrowed a medium sized glass of orange juice, and proceeded to haphazardly mix the two into what would soon become a barely drinkable “cocktail.” Forcing down a few gulps, we soon retired from this venture and called it a night, perhaps slightly buzzed, a little confused about what was so great about this beverage, and largely defeated. Waking up the next morning to find an empty house, we naively came to the conclusion that 7 am was a perfectly normal time to start drinking, and converted one of my families wine glasses into a make shift shot glass, and then proceeded to consume the remaining 735 mL in one sitting. Memory extremely hazy past this point, what I do remember is painting almost every single surface of the basement room with Hennessy and stomach acid, in a violent spree of regurgitation. Eventually my friend went home, and we both stayed home sick from school the next day, nursing our very first hangovers, as I cleaned my entire room in a manner I had never knew necessary.
Beginning a pattern of drinking and the uncontrollable toxin extraction process, while I definitely went through some stages of heavy drinking, with few exceptions the reality that if I drank too much I would eventually vomit, kept me from drinking to excess on countless occasions, and ultimately prevented me from becoming an alcoholic. Although I am assuredly not free from having vices, as Abraham Lincoln once wrote “It Has Been My Experience That Those With No Vices Have Very Few Virtues.”
A student of history, and of life, I have read much on the utter failures of alcohol prohibition, and have seen first hand in too many friends to count the harsh reality of drug, and particularly cannabis prohibition in this country, and the parallels are far too many too ignore. Glamorizing one form of sanctioned intoxication, as the state and federal governments lock human beings in cages for preferring a different chemical compound, the hypocrisy of the system in place today is becoming more and more visible to the rest of the world. Discussed in depth in the 2009 work Marijuana is Safer: So why are we Driving People to Drink?, one of the main points offered by Steve Fox of MPP, Paul Armentano of NORML, and Mason Tvert of SAFER (and one of the main architects of and driving forces behind the successful Colorado amendment 64), is that “the legalization of marijuana would not be ‘adding a new vice,’ but instead would be providing adults with a less harmful recreational alternative.”
-Joshua Genius
http://www.amazon.com/Marijuana-Safer-Driving-People-Drink/dp/1603581448
"Mijo, good tequila, doesn't burn."
He pulled the bottle of Vertigo from the freezer, poured me a shot. He didn't lie. This was around 8th grade. I don't feel like calculating the age, but you more or less have an idea of when I was introduced to alcohol. I tried beer my senior year and hated it. I discovered in my experimentation what my perfect limit was. 2 beers, Budlight, and a blacknmild. I was cashed. Had to lay down. Wine on the other hand I could drink all day. Which really doesn't make any sense. Started with Box wine. Then to cheap bottles of Merlot. $2.81 bottles to be exact. Hated beer. Loved wine. Liquor had saved my life but had always dangled me in front of death in the process.
Too me drinking had become a science of sorts. I had seen the effect it had on my relationships. With my friends, late nights of heart to hearts where only video games had occupied the conversational space. With my art I had found an honesty with myself I was unaware of. And my freestyle a fluidity I desperately needed.
It wasn't until I discovered what a blackout was did I ever consider alcohol a danger to myself. Normally I was just a different version of me. When I had reached these blackout state I had checked out completely. The transition was so smooth that the next day I had to struggle to recover my last memory of the night and determine that was the event horizon.
My early 20's drinking was my lifestyle. Recently it's a way to reward myself. If I have the time and money to even drink that is. My drunken alter ego doesn't come out as often as he used to. I believe it's because of the gap between us has diminished. I was suppressing parts of myself and living a double life at the time. All of that compression mixed with a catalyst like alcohol yielded someone I didn't know existed inside of me. I'm more straight forward and honest to myself and the people around me now. But if there is something hiding in the depths of my psyche, you know he's just biding his time before planting evidence in my hand and walking away in the wake of a hangover.
-DCR
