Friendly House = Wingnut House

I'm seriously reconsidering my membership and engagement with the Friendly House community center.

It was supposed to be a boon, a place where I could shower, sit down and enjoy some unhealthy but sustaining food, and use the computers. But, it seems like I'm just too damn sensitive to boorish, noisy, wingnut behaviors by other members to spend any appreciable time in this place. For example: this morning T— got pissy when I objected to having to listen to his obnoxious video he was playing out loud on his phone for everyone to hear (we're all supposed to be using head phones r ear buds when doing that sort of thing), then some fucking crazy fool sat across from me looking in my direction with his ridiculous sunglasses on talking to himself and accused me of being crazy and sharting shit when I asked him if he was talking to me. It just seems like yet another typically Portland institution, where the lunatic inmates have completely overrun the asylum; I've experienced this problem with Transition Projects and with Central Cty Concern, and the result is always the same — introverted and well-behaved people like me who are sensitive to chaos and noise get alienated and effectively shut out because deference is given to flamboyantly crazy people or cartoonishly animated dope fiends.

The lame thing about it is this kind of bullshit not only goes cntrary to the mission statement of the social services and community centers but is the result of selective enforcement of rules. It's blatant hypocrisy and discrimination, carried out by woke virtue-signaling assholes.

I'm very probably going to withdraw my membership from the Friendly House after I move all of my stuff out of my locker and figure out another place to charge my electronics and shower. Then I'll insist on a pro-rated refund of my membership and locker fees, or I'll complan to the Better Business Bureau, the Department of Justice: Consumer Protection Section, the local neighborhood paper, and possibly even hire an attorney when I get "paid" nexty month to sue the place for the money plus legal fees and emotional damages. I'll talk to the director of the community center first, but I have no faith in improvement, especially considerin how she's ignored my email complaints for a couple weeks.

Two More Bikes Yet Nowhere to Paint

I received an old Univega ten-speed yesterday when I was doing laundry; I think it's from the early 80s but it can be difficult to look that sort of thing up sometimes…now that Google has polluted the Internet with mostly useless, pornograhpic, hate-filled, parasitically profiteering or delusional garbage.

It was super sweet of the girl, who told me used to ride the thing up the nightmare hill going to Lewis and Clark College. But, now I'm left with a conundrum: how in hell am I going to strip and paint all the frames I have? I just ordered a 1990 Trek Singletrack 950, which means once it arrives I'll have two complete bikes and SIX full framesets (one missing a headset), three of them desperately needing to be repainted and one of them probably benefitting from a complete repaint. I need to get these damn things painted and built, and either donated or sold, not just to make room in my storage unit but to give me something more productive to do than grit my teeth at my weirdo peers in the Friendly House or drinking crappy beers in public. I just spent a couple hours on Google Maps and on the phone looking for places I can rent for the purpose, but the cheapest workspace I could find that would let me do this costs $350/month (with a $525 deposit)—it just wouldn't be worth it. I'm just going to have to find a way to become situationally extroverted and civil enough to find someone willing to let me use a garage or whatever for the purpose.

I hate to say it, but alongside my inability to prepare and safely store food, this is another reason I refgret having lost my housing. I still don't miss the poverty pimps, the slumlords, and the shitty part of town and lame-ass neighbors, but I'm definitely having a hard finding ways to work around the lack of kitchen and workshop facilities.

So Much for Working Part-Time

Well, hell, it looks like the Social Security administration was correct in its assesment of me being unemployable...or at least I think that's why they granted me my disability status.

I've tried and failed repeatedly to get a part-time food service job, mostly just to give me something more constructive and engaging to do with my time than drinking beer; for some reason I just either can't get a job or keep it when I get one. I've alienated employers by being snarky about their hiring processes and requiremnets, I've outright called out a business for wasting my time because it didn't have its shit together, and I've blown off interviews and flaked out on first shifts at least a dozen times. I guess I really am just too mental to put up with that obnoxious corporate Dilbert "culture" that's crept into every corner of society (when was the last time you said "moving forward" in a casiual conversation?), or to even work with anyone else. Don't get me wrong: I like work, but jobs and other people just plain suck — and even when you find something that doesn't dehumanize you or suck your soul or destroy your body in other ways it still won't pay enough to provide you with a modestly comfortable and secure life (you have to work about seventy-five hours a week at minimum wage here in Portland to afford to live properly, which includes saving for retirement). And this isn't just a problem for service and blue collar workers: even well-paid professionals end up giving up too much of their time to The Man and can't enjoy their pseudo-posh lives without constantly juggling debts.

So, I'm no longer lookling for work. I'll just resume canning starting Saturday, May 20, though non-competitively because I collect disability benefits and don't feel right depriving my less-fortunate peers their means of income. I'm also going to start looking for places to volunteer at, probably at the Friendly House and LiftUp PDX, maybe also join some Solve litter pick-up crews. Gotta do something, right? lol Especially when the beer no longer appeals.

Settled In (for Now)

So, I've spent exactly three weeks out here since I left that awful housing project downtown, and all things considered I'm doing remarkably well given the circumstances; I managed to land on my feet instead of on my ass.

I've settled on a loading dock near the freeway confluence in Northwest Portland, with my foxhle buddy R— who fled that failed camping experiment beside the freeway shortly after I did. The company that owns this property has allowed the homeless to sleep on its loading dock for as long as I can remember: the rules are simply 1) GTFO by around 6:30 AM (except on Sundays, when we can sleep in and loiter all day) and 2) don't mess the place up. We're the only guys living there; occasionally some random stranger overnights down at the other end, but other than that the place is ours. Nobody wants to join us because today's homeless are dysfunctonal dopers and nutters who insist on erecting permanent structures — there's a small compound of such structures across the street and down the block from us. As you can see from the photo, thanks to my disability benefits I'm well provisioned with a cot, an air mattress, a sleeping bag, and a pillow (R— sleeps on a sleeping bag on a foam mat inside a two-person tent). It gets a little noisy at times, and last night it got kind of sketchy when some guy in the compound down the street busted his car horn and screamed threats at us for an hour, but for the most part it's alright and once I get my peper ball projectile pistols to add to my stun baton I feel reasonably confident I can deter or defend myself against most assailants. One worry of mine is that eventually the streets will get more dangerous after the homeless have been herded into the city's mas encampments, because the only ones out here will be those who can't behave well enough to stay in shelters or camp sites or be housed.

Not only that, but I'm going to start washing dishes at a nearby Mexican restaurant on Friday, working fridays and saturdays mid-shifts. I'll only be working fifteen to sixteen hours a week, but I'll need to take extra care not to let myself get victimized by Morlock zombies or let myself get stupid and drunk or sleep deprived. In fact, I may need to use one or two spots in the neighborhood for daytime napping to ensure I can adequately perform on the job. Whatever it takes. I hope it works out for me! Figuring out taxes earning income from work while collecting disability benefits will be educational.