Rev. Mitcz’s FOF #6

Well, well, well… been a little while. I’ll be adding a few articles pretty soon here, I’ve been working on them in small doses, since usually I just sit down for 3-4 hours and write out an article - I’ve decided to take a different route, and do it in small doses. It works better for my busy schedule as of late. In silly news, this is the first article I’ve written w/my schnazzy new keyboard. In fact, this paragraph is the most I’ve written w/this keyboard. I just bought it today. It’s killer. The keys are scissor-keys, which basically means I’m typing on a laptop. If you’ve ever used one of the newer Apple Powerbooks, you know how sweet those keys feel. Well, MacAlly went and made a full-size keyboard for desktops, utilizing those keys. I love it, it just kicks. Okay, so now I’m on to fuck things off.

So, today I was finally paid for my web design work. About fuckin’ time. Hopefully I’ll get my car all fixed up next week. Anywho, I only bring this up because in order to get my check, I had to drive all the way out to Newport Coast. If you don’t know what that is (don’t feel bad, I just found out today) - it’s basically a large community of rich people who live in ostentatious mansions on hills that overlook Newport Beach. All of these houses, at one place or another, have a guarded gate “protecting” them. This isn’t like gated apartment communities like I live in. Our security in the lower-end sector is more of a red herring, it doesn’t really ward off much of anything, but at least the scared white people can pretend to feel safe. In Newport Coast, their gates are about 10 feet tall, and spiked at the tips, much like the old gothic castles or some shit. Surrounding the gates, they have 10-15 foot brick walls, and guarding the gates they have a large booth (about the size of my living room, or bigger) wherein there are at least 2 armed guards at all times. Today, I was told to drive out there, and the CEO would leave my check in an envelope w/his front gate security staff. All I had to do was pick it up.

So, I drive up to this place (which is only accessible by a toll-road that, all things considered, you spend about 2 minutes on and have to pay $1 each way to utilize). I get to the “castle front”, and some security lady comes out. I’m w/Celina, in her ‘89 VW cabriolet convertible - top down. I’m pretty sure the security lady just had some ingrained spite for us, for reasons unknown. She was very snide in asking “yes, what can I do for you?”. In a free world, she’d have said “lemme guess, you got lost and you need directions? There’s no WAY you know anyone who lives beyond this gate”. I tell her that I’m there to pick up an envelope left by (name withheld from this article), and my name is Mitch Marzoni. She says “I need to see your driver’s license”. I give her a look of “what the fuck?” but I’m not going to argue with the person who will be handing me $1,000 in less than a minute. So, I hand it over. She reads aloud “Mitchell Christopher Marzoni”. I can hear her doubting, in her head, that I am who I say I am. She looks at me, then the license, then me again - probably 3-4 times. Then, she walks inside the little security booth-house, and comes out with the envelope and my license. Now, to add insult to injury, the bitch actually says “I don’t know you. So, I had to verify your identity”. Gee, really? Like I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I could swear you and I were old college pals, how could you not remember me? Fuckin’ bitch. I know the purpose of checking one’s ID. I think it was pretty obvious.

But, really, what was this, some kind of conspiracy? It’s like she half-expected some guy to come up the road 20 minutes later, also claiming to be Mitch Marzoni and demanding an envelope. Obviously if the CEO left the envelope there, and called me to tell me about it, I am who I say I am. It’s not like the whole town heard that an envelope containing a check would be waiting for anyone who claimed to be Mitch Marzoni. No doubt the CEO probably also mentioned to them: “he’ll be a freaky looking asshole with metal all in his face” - as people can’t help but always describe me that way. I know because whenever I meet a mutual friend, they greet me with “ohh.. you must be Mitch”. Yeah, I must be that freak they’re always talking about. So, that pissed me off. Scared, paranoid, rich, prick-headed people with embellished (and pointless) security forces bug the shit outta me. Man, it’s like they think “if we let this guy in here.. he’ll destroy the very fabric of our community from the inside out. Next thing you know, we’ll all be under his dominant rule. Like Hitler or something”. What the fuck are you protecting yourselves from? Oh I know you’re probably going to say “well, perhaps there are celebrities living in there, and they need all the security they can get to keep out crazed fans.” Well, chances are, if they’re that big of a celebrity, they don’t live in that community - they have their own little block of land and their own little security force. So, try again. There’s just no logical reason for that kind of shit. But, ya know, the more money people have, the more “secure” they need to feel. More disassociated with society, away from the dregs of the common-folk, they need to be.

Funny sidenote: I’ve been to Texas, and seen Ross Perot’s house. It looks like the white house. Guess how many gates he has outside his house…? None. Yup, you could just walk up and bug the the bastard any old time you please. I saw it during x-mas, so I coulda been some x-mas caroler, bugging the shit outta Ross “can I finish?” Perot. But, it’s Texas. Which means few people will hesitate a well-placed buckshot in your ass if you step outta line. Still, it’s funny to mention that tidbit.

It’s been a pretty good week otherwise, really. Not much to bitch about. I’m trying to stay calm, and semi-happy. I like to revel in my good days, and good moments. So, I’m reveling. Sure, that doesn’t stop me from bashing on rich paranoid assholes - but hey, it’s better than bombing a postal office ain’t it? Thought so.

Until next time, don’t let the man keep ya down.

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