DANG BLASTED SAND BLASTERS

I read novels the old fashioned way: words printed on paper, paper bound together with glue and stuff, all this printed paper makes something called a "BOOK". I spend, probably, three, maybe four months reading and digesting my "BOOKS". I don't read them every day, because most days I'm occupying my valuable "free time" investigating real estate opportunities (we all know how well that is working out these days), catching up on world and local events via the internet, watching the news on the tube or most recently going to the world famous "Golds Gym" getting buff and chiseled.

Today I had a bit of free time to devout to my newest selection "CADILLAC BEACH" a true example of American classical literature by a pure linguist, poetic laureate, Tom Dorsey. A man in the same genre of Irving, Hemmingway, Stephen King. In the past three weeks, I have made it all the way to page 65 of 375 pages. Not bad for me, 65 divided by 21 = about 3 pages per day.
Unfortunately, the intervals between reading sessions is so great that most of the time I have to re-read the past several pages to remember what it was that I was reading about.

As I was saying, today I sat down at about three in the afternoon to get some serious pages under my belt. I intended to put a mucho grande dent in that paperback. I just finished re-reading the last four or five pages, got refreshed, and was about to embark on my journey into new novel territory. The hissing sound started. This unbelievable loud, earsplitting, head pounding hisssssssssiiiiing penetrating the inner sanctum of my new beach pad .

The hideous infernal contraption responsible for this audacious audible nightmare resembles some kind of morphed out metal dinosaur spewing dirt and sand and noise, unbearable noise, through a giant python sized rubber hose aimed at a decrepit, falling down, rotten, termite infested Marina Del Rey "CUSTOM DELUXE CONDO" project in which Section 8er' welfare dirt bags would refuse to live. That filthy stank bag collection, a card board box example of L.A.'s finest contemporary boring architecture and cheap assed construction guaranteed to disintegrate in, say, ten years. Makes me proud to come home to the hood.

For two solid weeks these guys have been blasting holes in that rotten stucco. Massive plastic sheets have been tacked on to rickety ass rusted out four story high scaffolding. The ghastly sails with huge gaping holes have been blown to hell and back, creating this giant ghost sailing hulk that goes nowhere and makes an evil ghastly flapping sound. FLAP,FLAP FLAP GOES THE CHEAP PLASTIC SHEETS, DAY AND NIGHT, SET OFF BY EVEN THE GENTLEST OF BREEZES. Hordes of giant pre-historic flightless birds with giant wing spans didn't make as much as this gaggling flailing noise.

Parking my H-2 is like a joke. There is none. All curb side is gone by 7:30 A.M. When I leave in the A.M., beat up '82 Honda Civics loaded with six or seven ESS-AA's sculk past, ESS-AA's by the dozen looking to scarf up my curbside spot. Tuesdays are even worse, 8-12 "street cleaning" (that's a joke in itself, no city money to replace the street sweepers brushes, so the street cleaner guy goes around pretending to sweep because the brushes don't reach the pavement, but that's a different story). These ESS-AA's work on the MACHINE. They wear ear-muffs, company supplied. Where in the H--- are my MUFFS? HEY COMPANY I'M GOING DEAF HERE!!!!!!

The cacophony of noise starts at 7 A.M. and stops at 7P.M. I can't hear my phone Tones (PHONES don't ring any more, the only thing that rings are my ears). When I am lucky enough to answer the phone, I can't hear anything. I see the phone wall paper start flashing...I answer...."What, can't hear you, SPEAK UP, WHA, HUH, WHA, WAIT I'LL GO INTO THE BATHROOM ON THE OTHER SIDE OF MY CONDO SO I CAN HEAR YOU. HOLD ON. WHAT....DO I WANT TO SUBSCRIBE TO WHAT? ARE YOU KIDDING I WASTED ANSWERING THIS THING FOR A JUNK CALL....NO, IT'S A GOOD TIME....SURE I'LL BUY MORE CABLE T.V. CHANNELS.....I CAN'T HEAR THE GOD D____ED THING....I'LL JUST WATCH IT WITH THE SOUND TURNED OFF.....YOU IDIOT CAN'T YOU HEAR ALL THAT NOISE.....THIS IS NOT A GOOD TIME....YOU STUPID S....OF A B..... click.

Back on topic, I read exactly one new page, not counting the five pre-read pages. ONE STINKING STUPID PAGE. My cats, who have spent last few days outside, are going deaf. I call them to come in and they just sit there looking at me......Like what, huuh....meow..what?

I don't know if I'm going to make it here in COMPACT LAND AT THE BEACH very much longer. This place is beginning to make the Antelope Valley look good. At least the sound of the wind there is real wind.