Monday, March 7, 2011

Shed Wars: the followup!

I was reminded of all that crap last year over my 25-year-old shed when I read this news item from down in Miami:

Last month, North Miami Beach blogger Stephanie Kienzle ripped her town's mayor, Myron Rosner, after finding that he'd spent more than $500 on hotels in nearby Hollywood and Miami. Days later, a code compliance inspector came knocking at her front door. "I had no doubt the mayor was trying to get revenge," she says.

Kienzle says she has an email that proves it -- and it appears she's not alone. Former mayor Raymond Marin, who lost to Rosner, complained to state officials last week that Rosner had done the same thing to him as a "personal vendetta."

I haven't written updates about my shed because there's nothing to tell. Once the neighborhood douchebag--my neighbor to the north, an ex-cop, who has a cop for a son, and plenty of City connections perfect for making someone else's life hell--sold his house and moved out, the City conveniently stopped bugging me about my old shed. Interestingly, Mr. Neighbor or his boy only got a bug up his ass about the shed when they were selling the house in March of 2010, not for the two years before that that I'd actually been working on the thing. New roof in November, 2009? Who cares! Selling the house? Holy crap, there's an ugly shed next door!


By the time he moved out, I bought a building permit for the shed. In nearly a year after I got the permit, I haven't heard a peep from City Hall, haven't had a followup or anything. The permit's been sitting in my car all this time. Must be nice, having political connections.

Within a few months of my getting the damn permit, I was rendered unable to work on the shed. I can barely climb a ladder. Perfect. I've had the new plywood for two years, plans are drawn, it'll be really nice, assuming I can ever lift a sheet of plywood again. That'll depend on my getting the kidney out and on how well that aortic dissection heals up.

Also apparently not an issue anymore is my Tracker; Mr. Neighbor or his son wigged out over the thing when it was house-selling time. The Tracker still sits with a canvas tarp over its rear window--but it was like that when I drove it all the time: there's no way to close the rear window.

It's not up on blocks, it's tagged and licensed, and has been for as long as I've had it. I had some fun with it when the Douchebag stuff started up: after he called about the supposedly "abandoned" vehicle I'd randomly take it out on errands or to work, making sure to drive slowly up the street (as if anyone would miss a screamingly yellow Tracker) in front of his house. With gas prices going up again, Old Yella will be hitting the streets again. It needs a bath, but as always I can just hop in and turn the key, start it right up even if it has been sitting up for a few months.

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