Utility

 
Vociferous Fuckweasel
 
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Vociferous Fuckweasel
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24 January 2020 14:45
 

It’s hard to make a good living in New Orleans. Most of us are either entertainers or servers, making ten dollars an hour in a city where a one-bedroom apartment in a half-way decent neighborhood will run you a grand a month, if not more.
I’m one of the lucky ones. I work from home, banging away at my keyboard for a company located close to the Mason-Dixie line.  I should add that no one ever bothers to check the data I feed into the system. Again, lucky me!
My home office looks out onto the street.
I see the mailman coming by each day, going about his routine, shoving advertisements into my mailbox. I throw them in the trash after a cursory one-over.
Every day, I see a neighbor going to work. He’s a black man who could be in his thirties or in his sixties. I find that hard to tell sometimes.
He owns a double shotgun house, but I have it on good authority that he has no money at all.
He leaves his house every morning, setting off with a vigorous gait accentuated by a gimpy right leg.
Sometimes he carries one backpack, but often he carries a second one across his chest.
He roams the streets all day and brings back to his house all the things he has found.
New Orleans is hot as fuck for most of the year, but my neighbor doesn’t care.
He goes about his business wearing a thick jacket and a woolen cap.
I put a chair out on the curb, because one of my cats has used it for a toilet one too many times.
An hour later it is gone. It has joined the crowded collection of junk on my neighbor’s porch.
There’s so much of it, I’ve no idea how he can get into his house.

Sometimes, when he passes my window he curses at no one in particular.

[ Edited: 24 January 2020 16:04 by Vociferous Fuckweasel]
 
 
GAD
 
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GAD
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24 January 2020 19:06
 

Oh nice, a shotgun hoarder with mental issues.

 
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel
 
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Vociferous Fuckweasel
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25 January 2020 05:01
 
GAD - 24 January 2020 07:06 PM

Oh nice, a shotgun hoarder with mental issues.

GAD,

A shotgun is a style of house down here.
They call it that way because if you open the front and back door, you can see through the whole house, or shoot a bullet through it without hitting any walls.
They’ were built in the late 18th century, long before A/C, and this style of building creates a cooling draft if you open the front and back door.

 
 
Nhoj Morley
 
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Nhoj Morley
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25 January 2020 06:11
 

Not to pile on…

Fans of This Old House learned from their New Orleans project that the term refers to the double doors and wide passageways that would allow not just a bullet, but the broad spray of a shotgun to pass through from front to back without touching anything.

I had a notion about removing my mailbox and mounting my shredder in its place. It turns out there are a lot of rules about what can be a mailbox.

What do you suppose is going on with your neighbor?

 
 
bbearren
 
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bbearren
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25 January 2020 07:49
 

The neighbor probably inherited the house, is unemployed, scours the curb-sides daily in search of barter-able materials he can sell/exchange for food, and finds other stuff along the way that’s “fixable” which he takes home to attend to later, to turn into more barter-able material; it’s his inventory.  Some of the clothes he wears likely came from curb-side.

I grew up in a shotgun house just outside a little hamlet named Homeland here in central Florida.  There are a great many of them still here in central Florida, quite a few here in my hometown.  And yes, the name comes from the ability to fire a shotgun from one doorway out the other without harming the hallway.  In most floor plans, the bedrooms were on one side of the hallway and the living room, dining room and kitchen were on the opposite side.  We had a wide porch on the back with a shallow well and a pitcher pump that pumped into a sink in the wooden counter top.  Handy for washing dishes or scrubbing laundry.

No indoor plumbing, we had an outhouse about 50’ west of the house.  The house was also furnished with a wood-burning cook stove where my mother prepared all our meals.  This was the late ‘40’s, we lived there a couple of years, best I can remember.  I had started first grade before we moved south to my present hometown. which would have been late ‘51 early ‘52.  In my “heart of hearts” Homeland will always be my true hometown.  Population of less than 300, a two-room school where grades 1-6 were taught; 1st through 4th grade in the east room, 5th and 6th in the west room, and a separated outhouse for girls and boys.

 
 
Nhoj Morley
 
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Nhoj Morley
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25 January 2020 09:03
 

This is a FUN metaphor. We could say a shotgun-post is one where you can stand on the front porch, read it from beginning to end and not see anything.

 
 
bbearren
 
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bbearren
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25 January 2020 09:45
 
Nhoj Morley - 25 January 2020 09:03 AM

This is a FUN metaphor. We could say a shotgun-post is one where you can stand on the front porch, read it from beginning to end and not see anything.

Like mine, for example, not see anything “recognized as having an opinion worth addressing.”  (GAD just loves it when I quote myself!)

 
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel
 
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Vociferous Fuckweasel
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25 January 2020 11:06
 
Nhoj Morley - 25 January 2020 06:11 AM

Not to pile on…

Fans of This Old House learned from their New Orleans project that the term refers to the double doors and wide passageways that would allow not just a bullet, but the broad spray of a shotgun to pass through from front to back without touching anything.

I had a notion about removing my mailbox and mounting my shredder in its place. It turns out there are a lot of rules about what can be a mailbox.

What do you suppose is going on with your neighbor?

I think he has been alone for too long.

 

 
 
Nhoj Morley
 
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Nhoj Morley
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25 January 2020 12:07
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 25 January 2020 11:06 AM


I think he has been alone for too long.

Yes. There is definitely a threshold. Or a point of no return. Why did you use ‘utility’?

 
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel
 
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Vociferous Fuckweasel
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25 January 2020 16:29
 
Nhoj Morley - 25 January 2020 12:07 PM
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 25 January 2020 11:06 AM


I think he has been alone for too long.

Yes. There is definitely a threshold. Or a point of no return. Why did you use ‘utility’?

I’m aspiring to be a published writer. In this little effort, I tried to connect the obvious pointlessness of hoarding by a mentally unwell man who dwells well outside of polite society with the arguably equally pointless working lives of two upstanding citizens; the mailman passing out junk mail and me sending data into the void.
“Utility” refers to the three of us.
I suppose it is now clearer why I am still aspiring.

Cheers

 
 
Skipshot
 
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Skipshot
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26 January 2020 11:49
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 25 January 2020 04:29 PM

I suppose it is now clearer why I am still aspiring.

Keep aspiring.  I thought you were writing extemporaneous, stream-of-consciousness, literary masturbation stuff.  Or is this a journal of observations?

[ Edited: 26 January 2020 15:51 by Skipshot]
 
Nhoj Morley
 
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Nhoj Morley
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27 January 2020 13:12
 

A modifier might have nailed that. I had to wonder if that is how futility is pronounced down there. Or that circumstance has made three guys who see each other daily have no utility for each other. Passing a salvageable chair hardly counts.

 
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel
 
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Vociferous Fuckweasel
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27 January 2020 14:20
 
Skipshot - 26 January 2020 11:49 AM
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 25 January 2020 04:29 PM

I suppose it is now clearer why I am still aspiring.

Keep aspiring.  I thought you were writing extemporaneous, stream-of-consciousness, literary masturbation stuff.  Or is this a journal of observations?

Hey, don’t knock masturbation!
It’‘s having sex with someone I love,

 
 
Cheshire Cat
 
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Cheshire Cat
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27 January 2020 16:39
 

I wasn’t sure what to make of this thread until your reply above.

Hey, I like it.

It reminds me of a Charles Bukowski poem, which should be taken as a compliment.

 
 
Skipshot
 
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Skipshot
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27 January 2020 22:16
 
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 27 January 2020 02:20 PM
Skipshot - 26 January 2020 11:49 AM
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 25 January 2020 04:29 PM

I suppose it is now clearer why I am still aspiring.

Keep aspiring.  I thought you were writing extemporaneous, stream-of-consciousness, literary masturbation stuff.  Or is this a journal of observations?

Hey, don’t knock masturbation!
It’‘s having sex with someone I love,

You misinterpreted my meaning.  I meant it in a good way, especially since I’m still the best I’ve ever had.

 
DEGENERATEON
 
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DEGENERATEON
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28 January 2020 16:00
 
Skipshot - 27 January 2020 10:16 PM
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 27 January 2020 02:20 PM
Skipshot - 26 January 2020 11:49 AM
Vociferous Fuckweasel - 25 January 2020 04:29 PM

I suppose it is now clearer why I am still aspiring.

Keep aspiring.  I thought you were writing extemporaneous, stream-of-consciousness, literary masturbation stuff.  Or is this a journal of observations?

Hey, don’t knock masturbation!
It’‘s having sex with someone I love,

You misinterpreted my meaning.  I meant it in a good way, especially since I’m still the best I’ve ever had.

There was a period where I masturbated so much I stopped fantasizing about women during the act and started thinking of other times I masturbated.
“The Raddisson in Colorado Springs…that was a doozy!”