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After the planning commission meeting we were told that a meeting would be set up for the neighbors to talk with the developer. We all exchanged emails. I got the second round of emails, apparently, that confirmed that we'd have a meeting today (Weds July 25). But the time and place were to be set later. This happened on Thursday. I sent a couple of emails asking for the time and place, and offering to let people on my street know about the meeting. By Sunday, when the nice fellow and I were walking back from the Moscow Circus performance at the Boardwalk, I still hadn't heard. We passed by the house of the woman who set up the meeting, and we had a weird-vibes conversation in which I figured that she had decided to hate me because I have the opposite conserns to hers and she said that she would be sending out emails the next day to say when the time and place would be.
No email.
Tuesday I had this feeling that this woman was not going to tell me the time and place and I would be out my opportunity to voice my concerns and make my suggestions (which are not hostile, remember, I like the project in general). So I sent an email asking for the information, but instead of replying to the one person I used the "reply all" function, and yes, I got an answer, not from the woman who had been organizing things, but another woman. The woman who had organized things had sent out two emails on Monday including, as far as I can tell, everybody on the original mailing list except me. The woman who answered my email was a person who hadn't been at the original Planning Commission meeting, so she doesn't know that she and I are on the opposite sides of the spectrum on our concerns. She's avidly opposed to the project from the get: doesn't want nine units where there were two, doesn't want more people in the neighborhood, doesn't want any trees chopped down, even if she can't see them and they're going to be replaced by three trees each(that's the rule for heritage tree removal: cut down one, plant three: that's after you get permission to cut them down, which isn't easy, I've seen the Urban Forester defend two nasty palm trees on properties belonging to people who couldn't afford to and couldn't themselves keep them pruned and safe -- many palm trees are horribly unsafe pruned, because the old fronds are hard and edged with sharp teeth, and fall off in high winds).
So I'm going to the meeting, which means I'm not coming home after work.
So I figure I'm going to have to clean up the front of my house if I'm going to go forward with this, because if I don't, the yuppie types are bound to come after me.
On another front, Frank has an interview Monday. Last night he drove a friend to San Jose (70+ total in the middle of the night): today he's meeting a Texan friend in LA (1000+ miles total): and tomorrow he's picking up a friend at the San Francisco airport (180+ miles total). My car is already at least a thousand miles late for an oil change, so I have to make that appointment for as soon as possible (Tuesday if they'll take it). No, I don't go to the 1-hour places: I take it to my mechanic a few blocks away. It's a ten-year-old car: I can't afford a new used car: it's a good car: I need an attentive mechanic.
On still another front, I started the last chapter last night. However, this morning, I discover that the Master Document feature has, yet again, removed four thousand words from my book, and I have to rewrite again. What the fuck? Who knows Word Perfect? Why is it always the last four thousand words???
No email.
Tuesday I had this feeling that this woman was not going to tell me the time and place and I would be out my opportunity to voice my concerns and make my suggestions (which are not hostile, remember, I like the project in general). So I sent an email asking for the information, but instead of replying to the one person I used the "reply all" function, and yes, I got an answer, not from the woman who had been organizing things, but another woman. The woman who had organized things had sent out two emails on Monday including, as far as I can tell, everybody on the original mailing list except me. The woman who answered my email was a person who hadn't been at the original Planning Commission meeting, so she doesn't know that she and I are on the opposite sides of the spectrum on our concerns. She's avidly opposed to the project from the get: doesn't want nine units where there were two, doesn't want more people in the neighborhood, doesn't want any trees chopped down, even if she can't see them and they're going to be replaced by three trees each(that's the rule for heritage tree removal: cut down one, plant three: that's after you get permission to cut them down, which isn't easy, I've seen the Urban Forester defend two nasty palm trees on properties belonging to people who couldn't afford to and couldn't themselves keep them pruned and safe -- many palm trees are horribly unsafe pruned, because the old fronds are hard and edged with sharp teeth, and fall off in high winds).
So I'm going to the meeting, which means I'm not coming home after work.
So I figure I'm going to have to clean up the front of my house if I'm going to go forward with this, because if I don't, the yuppie types are bound to come after me.
On another front, Frank has an interview Monday. Last night he drove a friend to San Jose (70+ total in the middle of the night): today he's meeting a Texan friend in LA (1000+ miles total): and tomorrow he's picking up a friend at the San Francisco airport (180+ miles total). My car is already at least a thousand miles late for an oil change, so I have to make that appointment for as soon as possible (Tuesday if they'll take it). No, I don't go to the 1-hour places: I take it to my mechanic a few blocks away. It's a ten-year-old car: I can't afford a new used car: it's a good car: I need an attentive mechanic.
On still another front, I started the last chapter last night. However, this morning, I discover that the Master Document feature has, yet again, removed four thousand words from my book, and I have to rewrite again. What the fuck? Who knows Word Perfect? Why is it always the last four thousand words???
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