I Wish I Could Quit You, West Virginia Politics

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March 3, 2019

We left West Virginia more than a year ago, but I just can’t stop watching the statehouse antics. You probably heard about the teachers strike during last year’s legislative session, when the Republican dominated legislature got their asses handed to them. This year, in a bald faced revenge move, the GOP attempted to push through an education “reform” bill that, amongst other things would have permitted charter schools in the Mountain State. That’s what got me paying attention again this year, but West Virginia being West Virginia, something even worse than this Koch-funded nonsense came along: Eric Earl Porterfield, (R-Mercer).

Porterfield


Delegate Porterfield first came to my attention after he railed against “the LGBTQ” on the House floor. He refers to the LGBTQ community as if were a singular block, or perhaps an actual block. He’s compared the LGBTQ [sic] to the Ku Klux Klan, adding, “The LGBTQ — not homosexuals, but the LGBTQ — is the closest thing to political terrorism in America.” What the hell is talking about? Damned if I know. After these and other similar statements, Porterfield was given the opportunity to explain, or at least reframe his assertions on a local television interview. Instead, he threw fuel on the fire by saying that if his children (both quite young) told him they were gay, he would take them to a creek and “see if they could swim.” What a guy, right? But wait, there’s more.

If you’ll notice in the above photo, Delegate Porterfield has, what the late Frank McCourt would have called “two eyes that look like pissholes in the snow.” You see, Porterfield is blind. Before you start feeling too sorry for him, let’s look into how he lost his eyesight. When he first came to great attention, the rumor was that he’d lost his sight in a bar fight after dropping a racist slur, but no one had the complete story. Then along came Jake. Jake Zuckerman, of the Charleston Gazette-Mail, that is. Zuckerman learned that Porterfield actually had his eyes gouged out, Three Stooges-style, in a brawl in the parking lot of a strip club in Indiana while he was . . . wait for it . . . in divinity school. I suppose when I introduced him, I should have said that his day job is as the founder and minister at Blind Faith Ministries (get it?). I’ll let Zuckerman’s reporting take the story from here:

“According to his own deposition, Porterfield and a friend, Steven McPherson, left Sky Box, a strip club in Harvey, Illinois, around 10:30 p.m. on the night of Saturday, Dec. 10, 2006. They headed across the Indiana state line to Cavanaugh’s, where they remained until closing time around 3 a.m.

According to her statement to police, Andrea Acevedo, a patron at Cavanaugh’s, was walking to her car with her cousin and two friends nearby, after the bar closed. McPherson approached her and touched her arm without permission. She told police McPherson told her to “shut the f–k up”; in her deposition in the lawsuit, she told attorneys he said “f–k you bitch.”

She said she told him it was late and he was drunk. He apologized. McPherson told police he knows he said something derogatory to Acevedo, and he might have told her to “shut the f–k up.”

Then, according to Acevedo, Porterfield approached.

“What are you apologizing to this bitch for?” Porterfield said, according to Acevedo’s deposition. “You don’t have to apologize.”

As two of her cousin’s friends, Jesus Venegas and Jason Dorado, approached, Porterfield addressed the bunch. “What are you bitches gonna do about it?” he said, according to Acevedo’s deposition.

According to Acevedo and her friends, Porterfield threw the first punch. Dorado said he’s 100 percent sure Porterfield took the first shot. Venegas said Porterfield threw the first punch, knocking him out cold.

Anthony Acevedo, Andrea Acevedo’s cousin, said he heard yelling before the fight.

“I just noticed like people were yelling and it kind of caught my attention, and then like I turned around and looked over, and I see this guy hit Jesus,” he said in his deposition.

McPherson told police the fight began among Porterfield and the others, not himself. He also told police that Porterfield told him not to talk to police.”

Nice guy, huh? But wait, there’s more. What led to the eye gouge?

“In the police report, an officer details information from a doctor, who said Dorado told a nurse that Porterfield bit his ear when Dorado had him in a headlock.

Dorado then “poked his eyes out,” during the fight.

“What the f–k do you want, he bit me?” Dorado said to the nurse, according to the report.”

Ah, ya gotta love the colorful candor of a police field report.

Everyone involved in the melee seems to have declined prosecution, but the depositions quoted come from Porterfield’s civil suit against the strip club for failing to provide adequate security.

This would all be fairly comical, if Porterfield weren’t now in a leadership position in state government. But he is. And I cannot take my eyes off the mess.

Adjusting

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February 23, 2019

Spring is close upon us. or at least so the calendar would say. Our remaining hens have resumed laying, so we’re at about two eggs per day, which is sufficient for us, and probably also for Dr. Evil’s folks across the road. But we are also approaching “Chick Days” at our local Tractor Supply, so we”ll see what happens with that. The girls seem to have forgotten the murder skunks, but are still unwilling to sleep in the abbreviated coop, preferring to roost outdoors in the run.

On to the horses. Last week, I was working in the NEW!! garage, and after a while noticed Scout (our asshole horse) standing in the middle of our “lawn,” grubbing on the grass. He’d marched right over the fence to dine on the fine fescue beyond the wire. With great effort, Dr. Evil was finally able to return (asshole) Scout to his proper pasture, but it remains my task to electrify the pastures to prevent future jailbreaks.

Return of the Skunk

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February 11, 2019

Quick update: We had snow last night, which gave proof of the return of the scurrilous skunk. The run and coop were surrounded by incriminating skunk prints in the snow, especially in the area where I suspected entry had been gained before. But we awoke to three healthy hens, so all’s well that (so far ) end’s well. The trusty Ruger 10/22 remains ready for future bad acts, of course.

Dollar Wars Begun They Have

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February 8, 2019

You know how people joke about there being a Starbucks on every corner? Well, our only Starbucks is co-located with the nearest grocery store some 16 miles away. So what does one do when the milk suddenly runs out mid-week? You go to the Marathon gas station in downtown (heh) Albany (pop. 828), which serves as gas station, provisioner, cafe, child custody handover spot, bus stop, and game check station. For anything else, say frozen entrees, light bulbs, seasonal clothing, housewares, and so forth, you’d need to cross the highway and fill your cart at the Family Dollar.

But there’s a new kid in town. We’ve been watching the construction of a commercial building not a quarter mile away from the the trusty Family Dollar, and believed it to be a compounding pharmacy that we’d heard something about on the radio over the summer. Then about a week ago, construction wrapped up and it was revealed to be no kinda pharmacy whatsoever, brother. It is a Dollar General store! Here’s a map to assist in demonstrating just how bold their choice of location is:

In addition to being right up in Family Dollar’s bidness, the Dollar General is located immediately across the highway from Lake Snowden, a popular recreation area (and home to the Ohio Pawpaw Festival). Who’s going to trudge all the way to Family Dollar for their bait, corn chip and amusing trucker cap needs when Dollar General beckons from so much nearer?

This is going to be—as the kids say—lit. I’ll keep you posted.

Then There Were Three

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February 7, 2019

I think a while back I mentioned that one evening I went to put the hens away and found several skunks in the coop. They disappeared after that encounter, or at least they weren’t around when I was tending to the girls. Last week, they were back again at chicken bedtime, and I ended up leaving the coop open. The next morning I found that they’d eaten all the chicken feed. So when I put them girls to bed on Sunday night, I took the feeder out of the coop and wished the five hens goodnight, assuring them I’d feed them bright and early the next morning.

On Monday morning, I went to let the chickens out into their run and found three live hens and two dead ones, and a distinct skunk aroma lingering in the air. Murdered by smelly skunks. What an indignity. Needless to say, Monday was a pretty shitty day. I’ve since fortified the old, decrepit coop as well as I could, and there don’t appear to have been any further incursions. But each morning, I experience a terrible knot in my stomach until I see all three remaining hens out and about, scratching and clucking.

Anyway, sorry to share the sad news, but there it is. RIP Eleven, and nameless black hen. You were good girls and we appreciated your brief lives.

It’s Here!

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January 27, 2019

Yes friends, on January 17th, only a few weeks late, we received the keys to our spankin’ new garage. It’s not quite a monster garage, but it’s more garage than I’ve ever had before. This is the view from our bedroom, a view that I take in no fewer than a dozen times a day.

Construction was a hassle, because they blocked our only route of ingress and egress, and the UPS/FedEx/USPS people probably hate us now, as all this occurred during the Christmas shipping season. The area around the garage is poorly drained, so it is basically a mud pit now, and stands to get only worse as spring approaches, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. Okay, I can’t handle. Dr. Evil’s role in all this has mostly been to be here and be supportive, a role in which she has excelled! (Hi, honey.)

Christmas Addendum

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December 31, 2018

I would like to thank each and every one of you good readers for giving us a lovely set of California olive oils and vinegar. I need to thank everyone, because it shipped without a note to tell us who’d sent it. So thank you all! Especially you. Yeah, you know who you are.

A Very Merry Christmas (just a bit early is all)

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December 25, 2018

It seems like Thanksgiving was maybe a week ago, but here we sit, everything Christmasing around us. This is the first Christmas that Kid No. 1 has been out of school, and she and her beau decided to split the holidays— Thanksgiving here and Christmas at his parents’. If it was my choice, I’d have chosen to have it the other way around, but I guess I didn’t get a vote. Anyway, we had (a) Christmas here on Saturday. To quote the Man In Black, “I don’t like it, but I guess things happen that way.” We had scads of non-traditional foods and exchanged gifts and all that. And it was nice to be with family in front of a warm wood stove. Dr. Evil and I decided that our big gift to each other would be a fancy new water heater, so as you can see, the romance between us remains en fuego.

But now it’s actually Christmas and . . . well, nothing. No stockings, no making of the merry. Even our egg nog turned out to be “spice” nog. It’s not bad, but it’s not egg nog. Our favorite Chinese restaurant isn’t open today, so we can’t even do a Jewish Christmas.

I suppose this, or some variation of this is how it’s going to be from here on, so I’d better just get used to it.

Kid No. 2 will be staying with us, presumably through New Years, so that’s pretty nice. She came bearing all of her laundry, So I guess I’ll have to buy more detergent soon, and give the septic some time off. So. Many. Clothes.

I hope everyone is having a wonderful Christmas, and I really, really hope for a better 2019 for our country.

Erection!

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December 14, 2018

It’s exactly one month late, but construction of the garage began on Monday. The worker bees swarmed the old structure and had it stripped and torn down in one day. I worried when no one showed up early Tuesday morning; a favorite tactic of contractors is to begin work, then wander away, insulating themselves from fraud claims because technically, they’ve started the job. Around mid-morning, though, they showed up to retrieve the scrap metal. Wednesday dawned to the sound of a skid steer zooming and forms getting built. I was, however, a bit concerned when the contractor came up to the house to basically ask to be reminded what exactly they were building. Uh oh. 

But it seems to be working out. They poured concrete yesterday morning and spent the rest of the day floating the surface. By close of business, it looked like a frozen pond. Speaking of freezing, the weather gods are favoring us; it’s been durned cold, lately, but this week warmed up right in time for the pour, with overnight lows not even hitting freezing for a few days. It’s Friday now, and they came to cut relief lines on the pad. It’ll continue to cure over the weekend and I hope to see framing start on Monday. Next potential hiccup: trusses. They haven’t been ordered yet. 

I know this is about as exciting as hearing about someone else’s dream, but it’s damned exciting to us, so please forgive my prattling.

Has everyone seen The Ballad of Buster Scruggs yet? If not, get on it!

Nostalgia, Once Removed

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December 3, 2018

We finally have a promise date from our contractor to tear down the old, tired outbuilding and replace it with a viable garage, so I’ve been laboring over the past few days, working to empty the existing structure. We have of ton of our own stuff in there——mower, tiller, chainsaw, garden stuff, but the in-laws also left stuff behind. I summoned Dr. Evil’s father over today to sort through the contents. Turns out he didn’t want the various flat tires, nor the gigantic camper cover, nor the 15 or so binders filled with research material, circa 1990. Among the various items I heaved down from the loft was a simple brown old-school suitcase. When it landed, he chuckled and said that it was the suitcase his parents sent him off to college with in the sixties. He didn’t want the it back.

I climbed down from the loft and tossed out various items, and committed others to the uncaring flames of the burn pit, but the suitcase remained. At the end of the day, as I was pulling the door shut, I spotted that old brown suitcase sitting upright on the floor and realized that I’d never toss it in the garbage, nor into the burn pit. I don’t know what will happen to it, but I’m not going to be the one to trash it.

***** UPDATE *****