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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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11.13.04, saturday night

My darling had a very bad week. I won't get into many details. I left four not-nice messages on a coward's answering machine, made a few frantic phone calls, and biked downtown to stare, alternately heavy with bile and concern, at five mounted rams' heads in an office I'd never thought I'd ever wait in.

The fortune cookie was right: Prosperity makes friends; adversity tries them. I won't bother to repeat myself after tonight, dear diary: I will resort, if I must, to fisticuffs for my principles and concerns. I will swoop to those beloved and in need of a kind deed or word.

. . .

Liquor store baklava, breakdancing sessions, glaring at the studiously disengaged ladies too cool for school (ok, then go away!), late night fries at Giant Burger, picking up a copy of my in transition video, wrapped in a plastic grocery bag and tucked into a yellow emergency booth near parking lot spot #60 at the North Berkeley Bart station.

. . .


Old news but still depressing (the new news, eh, I can't even write about anymore; I drink to numb myself): Tiny burrowing owls lose more ground: State ruling on habitat aids local developers:

"Sometimes populations relocate. We all have," [Fish and Game Commissioner Bob Hattoy, a former Sierra Club regional director] said. "It's really cute and adaptive. I don't want it to disappear, but it's my legal responsibility to vote this way." . . . "The commission's decision was outrageous, and lacked any credible biological or legal basis," said Jeff Miller of the Center for Biological Diversity. "We have preponderance of information about declines. They are saying it's OK for a species to be in decline with no mechanism for stopping it."






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