The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

Businesses come and go down here on the South End.  Mostly go…. Folks figure they can just empty out the kids’ piggy bank or sell the old Chevy van that’s been up on blocks 10 years behind the shed and scrape up the cash to hang a shingle out on their new storefront.  Something about working for other people makes em yearn for the entrepreneurial dream.  They figure if they work for themselves, their new boss will treat them a whole lot better.

Starting a business, they suppose, is a snap.  After all, this is a capitalist society and there’s all those consumers up on the North End clamoring for sales and services.  Wanda opened up the El Sol Tanning Solarium last year.  Now you know and I know the sun doesn’t shine much up on the cloud shrouded North End…. And so did Wanda, so she put out the CostCo neon OPEN  sign in a little 700 square foot storefront rental up by the Plaza Market where storefronts are opening up faster than real estate offices can move in, something Wanda mighta shoulda oughta factored in when she developed her business plan that night between dinner and Wheel of Fortune.

She lasted about the time it takes to say melanoma.  I don’t know what tanning beds go for used on CraigsList, but someday the antique value should be right up there with Ozone Generators from the 1920’s.  Wanda did get a nice full body tan herself, better than the burn down at the bank, and now we got another FOR LEASE sign where the neon no longer says OPEN.

When I last chatted with Wanda, she was heartbroken her dream died before it even had a chance to blossom.  ‘People must stay indoors and figure the TV will give them a tan,’ she lamented.  I said they go to Palm Springs or Albuquerque for the sun, not some coffin with full spectrum artificial lighting.  Wanda was in full denial.  More advertising maybe.  A location closer to town.  One free tanning session for every ten.  Now her savings were gone.  ‘I don’t want to go back to driving that school bus again,’ she practically sobbed.  In the land of capitalist dreams where Bill Gates whispers sweet somethings in every aspiring entrepreneur’s ear, failure is hard to accept.  Wanda will be fine.  She’ll dust herself off, take stock and probably launch into the next hot market.  DVD rentals or an umbrella shop.  Dreams don’t really die down here on the South End, they just recycle.  Worst case, she can do like most of the rest of us small businesspeople and become a working artist.  Low pay but huge self esteem.

Our latest entrepreneurial entrée into the fragile economic market of the South End is Tatoo U.  Armed with dye injecting needles and a menacing array of bicep tats, ‘Biker Bob’ Kowalski opened up his ‘body art emporium’ in the cleaning supply room of Hair Today – Gone Tomorrow’s Rogaine Outlet beneath Windy Rear Realty.

The opening week alone Biker Bob adorned 30 arms, torsos and lower calves with artworks ranging from colorful butterflies and cute unicorns to snarling hounds of hell and a blood dripping dagger with the always popular logo: NO LOSERS!  Bob acknowledges that he’s fighting a long held stereotype of body art that’s a bit negative.  “Mostly it’s the old farts,” he said in an exclusive interview for the Crab Cracker.  “They equate it with a sailor’s drunk in some port town.  Next morning he wakes up with the worst hangover of his life and the wrong girlfriend’s name on his chest.”  Bob tells us he doesn’t get many sailors and he’s reluctant to inscribe current girlfriend’s names.

Scrutinizing the hundreds of graphic images posted on the salon walls, I ask what are some of the favorites of us South Enders.  He admits it’s a bit early to say, but he’d done a couple of dragons for the guys and the little butterfly is popular among the ladies. “They like it right about bikini-line or just visible below the top of the bra line,” he says, then laughs and admits, “me too.”  Not bad work, if you can get it.”

With all the artists down here, I make the mistake of asking if he plans to use any of them to create one-of-a-kind tattoos.  This rankles him.  “Why don’t you go ask THEM if they’re going to use any of the other artists’ art to make theirs, ya jerk!”

I took his point, without the dye, apologized and took a hasty departure.

Artists are hyper-sensitive people, in case you’ve somehow never stumbled down to Colony Central here at the nettlesome South End.  Biker Bob will make a fine addition.

On my way past a stack of detergent and window cleaning supplies I passed a client coming in:  about 18, pierced nose, tongue stud, 3 tiny diamonds glittering in a clean row on her earlobe.  “Go for the butterfly,” I meekly suggest.  Her accompanying boyfriend glared ominously at me and advised I mind my own business.

You know, if I had one….  Biker Bob apparently does.

Before my Old Man died and he stopped watching or reading the new, if we asked him about some current event or other, he’d shrug and say ‘crazy world’. I think in his late 90’s he figured there wasn’t much he could do anymore to change things. If there ever was …. So he put politics, world and national and local events, catastrophes and wars, all of it in the rearview and tried to focus on eating and breathing. The rest — someone else could worry about it.

There are days — and this is one — I wish I could ignore the outside world, play my banjo, make some furniture, design a stained glass window, chop wood, hunt for crab, sit and write, enjoy the remaining years of my life without the constant bombardment from the insane jungle beat of a world going mad intruding constantly. The polls say Trump is at his highest approval rating ever. Higher than Biden, even though the guy is a crook, a traitor, an authoritarian creep without morals or values or the slightest human empathy for anyone but himself.

And I was worried about Artificial Intelligence taking over …. Global warming is no hoax and it and all our new wars are spurring immigration on a level we’ve never seen, only to get worse, but always a wedge issue for the ultranationalists here and abroad. What, me worry? But, like my old man says, crazy world. Unlike him, I have to live in it awhile longer.

Riding my non-electric bike around the Head today, I came across a small pile of firewood stacked on the side of the highway that read: FREE — TAKE ALL OR NONE. I have a friend who could use a little extra BTU’s for the coming winter, her own pile being a bit shy of warming her past Christmas, so I thought I’d drive my truck back when I got home, pick up half a cord and make a surprise delivery.

I arrived with my pickup and backed along the shoulder next to the pile, but before I was barely out of the cab a woman appeared out of her blacktop driveway riding a gas powered mini-tractor. ‘That’s on my property,’ she announced, which, since the sign said FREE, momentarily confused me. ‘Is it yours?’ I asked and she told me no, it was the neighbors’ but they’d piled it on her property instead of their own, apparently a territorial intrusion that perturbed her greatly. I said I would remove the offending wood post-haste, figuring this would alleviate her boundary dispute, but then she said I should move my truck to their side of the woodpile, more a demand than a suggestion, and although I considered explaining that the shoulder was actually neither hers nor her offending neighbor, it was county right-of-way, I decided to move the truck. Then … I don’t know, call it contrariness. Or maybe the imperial way she was acting, but … I decided why should I move the truck when I would be gone in five minutes, no harm done.

So I asked her highness, ‘What’s the problem if I just simply load the wood right here and be on my way? To which she responded that the shoulder was more level on the other side. This side was just as level, seemed to me without calling in a surveyor, so I decided to ask again, ‘What’s the issue here?’ The lady started to answer, harrumphed heavily, then threw up her hands and started up her go-cart to leave.

A better man might have let it go at this. A better man might have moved the truck to the other side. But that man, alas, is not me. I said, ‘Hold up!’ And remarkably she did. ‘I just want to know why it’s a big deal to you to make this some kind of confrontation.’ This flustered her and she seemed on the verge of forming an answer, if there was one, but finally gave a disgusted wave and motored down her asphalt drive toward her million and a half dollar manse, no doubt muttering to herself about low life, cruddy losers who have the temerity to park anywhere near her moatless mansion in some beat up truck wearing a beat up hat and addressing her with insolence On or Next To or Too Nearby her estate.

There was a time, long before m’lady or m’lord bought their palace, when the South End was a tad more neighborly, when we helped each other build additions or fixed plumbing or troubleshot car problems. We knew each other’s name and yeah, sometimes we didn’t get along. I guess we were all serfs back then, but happy serfs. Now we got the dukes and duchesses to show us our proper place where even the shoulder of the road is off limits. It won’t be long before they’ll toll us for the use of their highway too.

It’s that time of year again. Time for a Covid booster. Masks, zoom meetings, quarantines. Maybe even a flu shot. Time once again for all the conspiracy trolls to hit social media with horror stories of nano-trackers and autism babies. Science, the tool Big Government uses to control you!!

The Age of Reason is over, my friend. Logic is being swept aside for superstition. Rationality is the tool government uses to enslave you. History is propaganda. Ignorance is Strength. Freedom is Slavery. Doublespeak is back! Truth is a Ploy! Big Brother is Woke. Trust No One!

Vaccines don’t save lives, they kill more people than the disease itself. Doc Fauci was a monster. Science exists to subjugate the masses. Global warming is a hoax. The moon landing was faked. Lizard people rule the world. Chemtrails pour poison on you. Jews are starting forest fires using lasers from space. Obama is the anti-Christ. Democrats are abducting children for perversion and for snacks. The Sandy Hook slaughter was staged.

Make up a few of your own, why not? It’s fun and others on your social media will read it and take it to heart as gospel. Everything is wide open, subject to no fact checking, just take it for granted and if enough of us believe it, it must be true. Doubt everything, believe everything, it’s the new mantra of our era. Alternative facts! Skepticism is the new religion. Who ya gonna believe, me or your own eyes? Me, of course. Welcome to the New Dark Age.